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PECULIAR 


A Tale of the Great Transition 


/ 

By EPES SARGENT 


7 j ^ Ct. 

/ 


/- 



NEW YORK 

CARLETON, PUBLISHER, 413 BROADWAY 


M DCCC LXIV 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by 
EPES SARGENT, 

in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 


# 




SEVENTH EDITION. 


U 

Welch, 


niversity Press: 
Bigelow, and Com pan 
Cambridge. 


Y, 







CONTENTS. 


Chapter 

I. A Glance in the Mirror 

II. A Matrimonial Blank 

III. The Wolf and the Lamb 
IY. A Fugitive Chattel . 

Y. A Ketrospect .... 

YI. Pin-holes in the Curtain . 

YII. An Unconscious Heiress . 

VIII. A Descendant of the Cavaliers 

IX. The Upper and the Lower Law 

X. Groups on the Deck . 

XI. Mr. Onslow speaks iiis Mind 

XII. The Story of Estelle 

XIII. Fire up! 

XIY. Waiting for the Summoner 
XV. Who shall be Heir ? 

XYI. The Vendue 

XVII. Shall there be a ^W edding ? . 

XVIII. The Unities Disregarded . 

XIX. The White Slave . 

XX. Encounters at the St. Charles . 

XXI. A Monster of Ingratitude 

XXII. The Young Lady with a Carpet-Bag 
XXIII. Will you walk into my Parlor? . 


Pact 

1 

6 

12 

19 

28 

34 

46 

57 

69 

81 

97 

105 

148 

151 

158 

165 

178 

183 

187 

200 

219 

224 

233 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


XXIV. 

Confessions of a Mean White 

• 


• 


240 

XXV. 

Meetings and Partings 

• 

• 


. 

251 

XXVI. 

Clara makes an Important Purchase . 


• 


257 

XXVII. 

Delight and Duty 

. 

• 


. 

264 

XXVIII. 

A Letter of Business 

. 


• 


274 

XXIX. 

The Woman who Deliberates is 

Lost 

• 


. 

279 

XXX. 

A Feminine Van Amburgh 

. 


• 


- 290 

XXXI. 

One of the Institutions . 

. 



. 

300 

XXXII. 

A Double Victory . 



• 


305 

XXXIII. 

Satan amuses Himself 

. 

• 


. 

314 

XXXIV. 

Light from the Pit 



• 


327 

XXXV. 

The Committee adjourns . 

. 

• 


. 

335 

XXXVI. 

The Occupant of the White House 


• 


349 

XXXVII. 

Comparing Notes 

. 

• 


. 

359 

XXXVIII. 

The Lawyer and the Lady . 

. 


• 


372 

XXXIX. 

Seeing is Believing . 

. 

• 


. 

382 

XL. 

The Kemaricable Man at Richmond 


• 


392 

XLI. 

Hopes and Fears 

. 

• 


. 

397 

XLII. 

How IT WAS DONE . 

. 


• 


430 

XLIII. 

Making the best of it 

. 

• 


. 

442 

XLIV. 

A Domestic Reconnoissance . 

. , 




455 

XL V. Another Descendant of the Cavaliers 

• 


. 

464 

XL VI. 

The Night cometh . 

. 




471 

XL VII. 

An Autumnal Visit . 

. 

• 


, 

480 

XL VIII. 

Time Discovers and Covers . 

. 




489 

XLIX. 

Eyes to the Blind 

# 

• 



493 


PECULIAR 


CHAPTER I. 

A GLANCE IN THE MIRROR. 

“ Wed not for wealth, Emily, without love, — ’t is gaudy slavery ; nor for love without 
competence, — ’t is twofold misery.” — Colman's Poor Gentleman. 

I T is a small and somewhat faded room in an unpretending 
brick house in one of the streets that intersect Broadway, 
somewhere between Canal Street and the Park. A woman 
sits at a writing-table, with the fingers of her left hand thrust 
through her hair and supporting her forehead, while in her 
right hand she holds a pen with which she listlessly draws 
figures, crosses, circles and triangles, faces and trees, on the 
blotting-paper that partly covers a letter which she has been 
inditing. 

A window near by is open at the top. March, having come 
in like a lion, is going out like a lamb. A canary-bird, intoxi- 
cated with the ambrosial breath and subduing sunshine of the 
first mild day of spring, is pouring forth such a Te Deurn lau - 
damus as Mozart himself would have despaired of rivalling. 
Yesterday’s rain-storm purified the atmosphere, swept clean 
the streets, and deodorized the open gutters, that in warm 
weather poison with their effluvium the air of the great Ameri- 
can metropolis. 

On the wall, in front of the lady at the table, hangs a mirror. 
Look, now, and you will catch in it the reflection of her face.' 
Forty? Not. far from it. Perhaps four or five years on the 
sunny side. Fair ? Many persons would call her still beau- 
tiful. The features, though somewhat thin, show their fine 


2 


PECULIAR. 


Grecian outline. The hair is of a rich flaxen, the eyes blue 
and mild, the mouth delicately drawn, showing Cupid’s bow in 
the curve of the upper lip, and disclosing, not too ostentatious- 
ly, the whitest teeth. 

Her dress is significant of past rather than present familiari- 
ty with a fashionable wardrobe. If she ever wore jewels, she 
has parted with all of them, for there is not even a plain gold 
ring on her forefinger. Her robe is a simple brown cash- 
mere, not so distended by crinoline as to disguise her natural 
figure, which is erect, of the average height, and harmoniously 
rounded. We detect this the better as she rises, looks a mo- 
ment sorrowfully in the glass, and sighs to herself, “ Fading ! 
fading ! ” 

There is a gentle knock at the door, and to her “ Come in,” 
an old black man enters. 

“ Good morning, Toussaint,” says the lady ; “ what have you 
there?” 

“ Only a few grapes for Madame. They are Black Ham- 
burgs, and very sweet. I hope Madame will relish them. 
They will do her good. Will she try some of them now?” 

“ They are excellent, Toussaint. And what a beautiful bas- 
ket you have brought them in ! You must have paid high for 
all this fruit, so early in the season. Indeed, you must not run 
into such extravagances on my account.” 

“ Does Madame find her cough any better ? ” 

“ Thank you, Toussaint, I do not notice much change in it 
as yet. Perhaps a few more mild days like this will benefit 
me. How is Juliette ? ” 

“ Passablement bien. Pretty well. May I ask — ahem ! 
Madame will excuse the question — but does her husband treat 
her with any more consideration now that she is ill ? ” 

“ My good Toussaint, I grieve to say that Mr. Charlton is 
not so much softened as irritated by my illness. It threatens 
to be expensive, you see.” 

“ Ah ! but that is sad, — sad ! I wish Madame were in my 
house. Such care as Juliette and, I would take of her ! You 
look so much like your mother, Madame ! I knew her before 
her first marriage. I dressed her hair the day of her wedding. 
People used to call her proud. But she was always kind to 


A GLANCE IN THE MIRROR. 


3 


me, — very kind. And you look like her so much ! As I 
grow old I think all the more of my old and early friends, — 
the first I had when I came to New York from St. Domingo. 
Most of them are dead, but I find out their children if I can ; 
and if they are sick I amuse myself by carrying them a few 
grapes or flowers. . They are very good to indulge me by 
accepting such trifles.” 

“ Toussaint, the goodness is all on your side. These grapes 
are no trifle, and you ought to know it. I thank you for them 
heartily. Let me give you back the basket.” 

“ No, please don’t. Keep it. Good morning, Madame ! Be 
cheerful. Le bon temps reviendra. All shall be well. Bon 
jour ! Au revoir, Madame ! ” 

He hurries out of the room, but instantly returns, and, tak- 
ing a leaf of fresh lettuce out of his pocket, reaches up on 
tiptoe and puts it between the bars of the bird-cage. “ I was 
nigh forgetting the lettuce for the bird,” says he. “ Madame 
will excuse my gaucherie.” And, bowing low, he again disap- 
pears. 

The story of Emily Bute Charlton may be briefly told. 
Pier mother, Mrs. Danby, was descended from that John Brad- 
shaw who was president of the court which tried Charles the 
First, and who opposed a spirited resistance to the usurpation 
of Cromwell in dissolving the Parliament. Mrs. Danby was 
proud of her family tree. In her twentieth year slie*was left 
a widow, beautiful, ambitious, and poor, with one child, a 
daughter, who afterwards had in Emily a half-sister. This 
first daughter had been educated carefully, but she had hardly 
reached her seventeenth year when she accepted the addresses 
of a poor man, some fifteen years her senior, of the name of 
Berwick. The mother, with characteristic energy, opposed the 
match, but it was of no use. The daughter was incurably in 
love ; she married, and the mother cast her off. 

Time brought about its revenges. Mr. Berwick had inher- 
ited ten acres of land on the island of Manhattan. He tried to 
sell it, but was so fortunate as to find nobody to buy. So he 
held on to the land, and by hard scratching managed to pay 
the taxes on it. In ten years the city had crept up so near to 
liia dirty acres that he sold half of them for a hundred thousand 


4 


PECULIAR. 


dollars, and became all at once a rich man. Meanwhile his 
wife’s mother, Mrs. Danby, after remaining fourteen years a 
widow, showed the inconsistency of her opposition to her 
daughter’s marriage by herself making an imprudent match. 
She married a Mr. Bute, poor and inefficient, but belonging to 
“ one of the first families.” By this husband she had one 
daughter, Emily, the lady at whose reflection in the mirror we 
have just been looking. 

Emily Bute, like her half-sister, Mrs. Berwick, who was 
many years her senior, inherited beauty, and was quite a belle 
in her little sphere in Philadelphia, where her family resided. 
Her mother, who had repelled Berwick as a son-in-law in his 
adversity, was too proud to try to propitiate him in his pros- 
perity. She concealed her poverty as well as she could from 
her daughter, Mrs. Berwick, and the latter had often to resort 
to stratagem in order to send assistance to the family. At last 
the proud mother died ; and six months afterwards her first- 
born daughter, Mrs. Berwick, died, leaving one child, a son, 
Henry Berwick. 

Years glided on, and Mr. Bute had hard work to keep the 
wolf from the door. He was one of those persons whose ef- 
forts in life are continual failures, from the fact that they cannot 
adapt themselves to circumstances, — cannot persevere during 
the day of small things till their occupation, by gradual devel- 
opment, becomes profitable. He would tire of an employment 
the moment its harvest of gold seemed remote. Forever 
sanguine and forever unsuccessful, he at last found himself re- 
duced, with his daughter, to a mode of life that bordered on the 
shabby. 

In this state of things, Mr. Berwick, like a timely angel, re- 
appeared, rich, and bearing help. He was charmed with 
Emily, as he had formerly been with her half-sister. He pro- 
posed marriage. Mr. Bute was enchanted. He could not 
conceive of Emily’s hesitating for a moment. Were her af- 
fections pre-engaged? No. She had been a little of a flirt, 
and that perhaps had saved her from a serious passion. Why 
not, then, accept Mr. Berwick ? He was so old ! Old ? What 
is a seniority of thirty years ? He is rich, — has a house on 
the Fifth Avenue, and another on the North River. What 


A GLANCE IN THE MIRROR. 


5 


insanity it would be in a poor girl to allow such a chance to 
slip by! 

Still Emily had her misgivings. Her virginal instincts pro- 
tested against the sacrifice. She had an ideal of a happy life, 
which certainly did not lie all in having a freestone house, 
French furniture, and a carriage. She knew the bitterness of 
poverty ; but was she quite ready to marry without love ? Her 
father’s distresses culminated, and drove her to a decision. 
She became Mrs. Berwick ; and Mr. Bute was presented with 
ten thousand dollars on the wedding-day. He forthwith re- 
lieved himself of fifteen hundred in the purchase of a “new 
patent-spring phaeton ” and span. “ A great bargain, sir ; 
splendid creatures ; spirited, but gentle ; a woman can drive 
them ; no more afraid of a locomotive than of a stack of hay ; 
the carriage in prime order ; has n’t been used a dozen times ; 
will stand any sort of a shock ; the property of my friend, 
Garnett ; he would n’t part with the horses if he could afford to 
keep them ; his wife is quite broken-hearted at the idea of 
losing them ; such a chance does n’t occur once in ten years ; 
you can sell the span at a great advance in the spring.” 

This urgent recommendation from “ a particular friend, en- 
tirely disinterested,” decided Bute. He bought the “ establish- 
ment.” The next day as he was taking a drive, the shriek 
of a steam-whistle produced such an effect upon his incompara- 
ble span, that they started off at headlong speed, ran against a 
telegraph-pole, smashed the “ new patent-spring phaeton,” 
threw out the driver, and broke his neck against a curb- 
stone ; and that was the end of Mr. Bute for this world, if 
we may judge from appearances. 

Emily’s marriage did not turn out so poorly as. the retribu- 
tions of romance might demand. But on Mr. Berwick’s death 
she followed her mother’s example, and married a second time. 
She became Mrs. Charlton. Some idea of the consequences 
of this new alliance may be got from the letter which she has 
been writing, and which we take the liberty of laying before 
our readers. 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER II. 

A MATRIMONIAL BLANK. 

“ Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, 

And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow.” 

Shakespeare. 

To HENRY BERWICK, Cincinnati. 

D EAR HENRY : You kindly left word for me to write 
you. I have little of a cheering nature to say in regard 
to myself. We have moved from the house in Fourteenth 
Street into a smaller one nearer to the Park and to Mr. Charl- 
ton’s business. His complaints of his disappointment in regard 
to my means have lately grown more bitter. Your allowance, 
liberal as it is, seems to be lightly esteemed. The other day 
he twitted me with setting a snare for him by pretending to be 
a rich widow. O Henry, what an aggravation of insult ! I 
knew nothing, and of course said nothing, as to the extent of 
your father’s wealth. I supposed, as every one else did, that 
he left a large property. His affairs proved to be in such a 
state that they could not be disentangled by his executors till 
two years after his death. Before that time I was married to 
Mr. Charlton. 

Had I but taken your warning, and seen through his real 
feelings! But he made me think he loved me for myself 
alone, and he artfully excited my distrust of you and your mo- 
tives. He represented his own means as ample ; though for 
that I did not care or ask. Repeatedly he protested that he 
would prefer to take me without a cent of dowry. I was sim- 
pleton enough to believe him, though he was ten years my 
junior. I fell foolishly in love, soon, alas ! to be rudely roused 
from my dream ! 

It seems like a judgment, Henry. You have always been 
as kind to me as if you were my own son. Your father was 
so much my senior, that you may well suppose I did not marry 
him from love. I was quite young. My notions on the sub- 


A MATRIMONIAL BLANK. 


1 


ject of matrimony were unformed. My heart was free. My 
father urged the step upon me as one that would save him 
from dire and absolute destitution. What could I do, after 
many misgivings, but yield ? What could I do? I now well 
see what a woman of real moral strength and determination 
could and ought to have done. But it is too late to sigh over 
the past. 

I behaved passably well, did I not ? in the capacity of your 
step-mother. I was loyal, even in thought, to my husband, 
although I loved him only with the sort of love I might have 
entertained for my grandfather. You were but two or three 
years my junior, but you always treated me as if I were a 
dowager of ninety. As I now look back, I can see how nobly 
and chivalrously you bore yourself, though at the time I did 
not quite understand your over-respectful and distant de- 
meanor, or why, when we went out in the carriage, you always 
preferred the driver’s company to mine. 

Your father died, and for a year and a half I conducted 
myself in a manner not unworthy of his widow and your 
mother. At the end of that period Mr. Charlton appeared at 
Berwickville. He dressed pretty well, associated with gentle- 
men, was rather handsome, and professed a sincere attachment 
for myself. Time had dealt gently with me, and I was not 
aware of that disparity in years which I afterwards learned 
existed between me and my suitor. In an unlucky moment I 
was subdued by his importunities. I consented to become his 
wife. 

The first six months of our marriage glided away smoothly 
enough. My new husband treated me with all the attention 
which I supposed a man of business could give. If the vague 
thought now and then obtruded itself that there was something 
to me undefined and unsounded in his character, I thrust the 
thought from me, and found excuses for the deficiency which 
had suggested it. One trait which I noticed caused me some 
surprise. He always discouraged my buying new dresses, and 
grew very economical in providing for the household. I am 
no epicure, but have been accustomed to the best in articles 
of food. I soon discovered that everything in the way of pro- 
visions brought into the house was of a cheap or deteriorated 
quality. I remonstrated, and there was a reform. 


8 


PECULIAR. 


One bright day in June, two gentlemen, Mr. Ken and Mr. 
Turner, connected with the management of your father’s estate, 
appeared at Berwickville. They came to inform me that my 
late husband had died insolvent, and that the house we then 
occupied belonged to his creditors, and must be sold at once. 
Mr. Charlton received this intelligence in silence ; but I was 
shocked at the change wrought by it on his face. In that 
expression disappointment and chagrin of the in tensest kind 
seemed concentrated. Nothing was to be said, however. There 
were the documents ; there were the facts, — the stern, irre- 
sistible facts of the law. The house must be given up. 

After these bearers of ill-tidings had gone, Mr. Charlton 
turned to me. But I will not pain you by a recital of what he 
said. He rudely dispelled the illusions under which I had 
been laboring in regard to him. I could only weep. I could 
not utter a word of retaliation. Whilst he was in the midst 
of his reproaches, a servant brought me a letter. Mr. Charl- 
ton snatched it from my hand, opened, and read it. Either it 
had a pacifying effect upon him, or he had exhausted his stock 
of objurgations. He threw the letter on the table and quitted 
the room. 

It was your letter of condolence and dutiful regard, promis- 
ing me an allowance from your own purse of a hundred dollars 
a month. What coals of fire it heaped on my head! To 
please Mr. Charlton I had quarrelled with you, — forbidden 
you to visit or write me, — and here was your return ! The 
communication coming close upon the dropping of my hus- 
band’s disguise almost unseated my reason. What a night of 
tears that was ! I recalled your warnings, and now saw their 
truth, — saw how truly disinterested you were in them all. 
How generous, how noble you appeared to me ! How in con- 
trast, alas ! with him I had taken for better or worse ! 

I lay awake all night. Of course I could not think of ac- 
cepting your offer. In the first place, my past treatment of 
you forbade it. And then I knew that your own means were 
narrow, and that you had just entered into an engagement of 
marriage with a poor girl. But when, the next day, I commu- 
nicated my resolve to my husband, he calmly replied : “ Non- 
sense ! Write Mr. Berwick, thanking him for his offer, and 


A MATRIMONIAL BLANK. 


9 


telling him that, small as the sum is, considering jour wants, 
you accept it.” What a poor thing you must have thought me, 
when you got my cold letter of acceptance. Do me the justice 
to believe me when I affirm that every word of it was dictated 
by my husband. How I have longed to see you in person, to 
tell you all that I have endured and felt ! But this circum- 
stances have prevented. And now I am possessed with the 
idea that I never shall see you in this life again. And that is 
why I make these confessions. Your marriage, your absence 
in Europe, your recent return, and your hurried departure 
for the West, have kept me uncertain as to where a message 
would reach you. Yesterday I got a few affectionate lines 
from you, telling me a letter, if mailed at once, would reach 
you in Cincinnati, or, if a week later, in New Orleans. And 
so I am devoting the forenoon to tills review of my past, so 
painful and sad. 

Let me think of your happier lot, and rejoice in it. So your 
affairs have prospered beyond all hope ! Through your wife 
you are unexpectedly rich in worldly means. Better still, you 
are rich in affection. Your little Clara is “ the brightest, the 
loveliest, the sunniest little thing in the wide world.” So you 
write me ; and I can well believe it from the photograph and 
the lock of hair you send me. Bless her ! What would I give 
to hug her to my bosom. And you too, Henry, you too I 
could kiss with a kiss that should be purely maternal, — a 
benediction, — a kiss your wife would approve, for, after all, 
you are the only child I have had. Mr. Charlton has always 
said he would have no children till he was a rich man. He 
and the female physician he employs have nearly killed me 
with their terrible drugs. Yes, I am dying, Henry. Even the 
breath of this sweet spring morning whispers it in my ear. 
Bless you and yours forever! What a mistake my life has 
been ! And yet, how I craved to love and be loved ! You 
will think kindly of me always, and teach your wife and child 
to have pleasant associations with my name. 

All the rich presents your father made me have been sold by 
Mr. Charlton ; but I have one, that he has not seen, — a costly 
and beautiful gold casket for jewels, which I reserve as a pres- 
ent for your little Clara. I shall to-morrow pack it up care- 
1 # 


10 


PECULIAR. 


fully, and take it to a friend, wlio I know will keep and deliver 
it safely. That friend, strange as it may sound to you, is 
the venerable old black hair-dresser, Toussaint, who lives in 
Franklin Street. Your father used to say he had never met a 
man he would trust before Toussaint ; and I can say as much. 
Toussaint used to dress my mother’s hair ; he is now my ad- 
viser and friend. 

Born a slave in the town of St. Mark in St. Domingo in 
1766, Pierre Toussaint was twelve years the junior of that 
fellow-slave, the celebrated Toussaint l’Ouverture, born on the 
same river, who converted a mob of undrilled, uneducated 
Africans into an army with which he successively overthrew 
the forces of France, England, and Spain. At the beginning 
of the troubles in the island, in 1 J01, Pierre was taken by his 
master, the wealthy Mons. Berard, to New York. Berard, 
having lost his immense property in St. Domingo, soon died, 
and Pierre, having learnt the business of a hair-dresser, sup- 
ported Madame Berard by his labors some eight years till her 
death, though she had no legal claim upon his service. Bred 
up, as he was, indulgently, Pierre’s is one of those exceptional 
cases in which slavery has not destroyed the moral sense. 

I know of few more truly venerable characters. A pious 
Catholic, he is one of the stanchest of friends. . One of his 
rules through life has been, never to incur a debt, — to pay on 
the spot for everything he buys. And yet he is continually 
giving away large sums in charity. One day I said, “ Tous- 
saint, you are rich enough ; you have more than you want ; 
why not stop working now?” He answered, “Madame, I 
have enough for myself, but if I stop work, I have not enough 
for others ! ” By the great fire of 1835, Toussaint lost by his 
investments in insurance companies. The Schuylers and the 
Livingstons passed around a subscription-paper to repair his 
losses ; but he stopped it, saying he would not take a cent from 
them, since there were so many who needed help more than he. 

An old French gentleman, a white man, once rich, whom 
Toussaint had known, was reduced to poverty and fell sick. 
For several months Toussaint and his wife, Juliette, sent him a 
nicely cooked dinner ; but Toussaint would not let him know 
from whom it came, “ because, ” said the negro, “ it might hurt 
his pride to know it came from a black man. ” Juliette once 


A MATRIMONIAL BLANK. 


11 


called on this invalid to learn if her husband could be of any 
help. “O no,” said the old Monsieur, “ I am well known; I 
have good friends ; every day they send me a dinner, served up 
in French style. To-day I had a charming vol-au-vent, an 
omelette, and green peas, not to speak of salmon. I am a per- 
son of some importance, you see, even in this strange land.” 
And Juliette would go home, and she and Toussaint would have 
a good laugh over the old man’s vauntings.* 

But what has possessed me to enter into all these details ! I 
know not, unless it is the desire to escape from less agreeable 
thoughts. 

I have a request to make, Henry. You will think me fanciful, 
foolish, perhaps fanatical ; and yet I am impelled, by an unac- 
countable impression, to ask you to give up the tickets you tell 
me you have engaged in the Pontiac, and to take passage for 
New Orleans in some other boat. If you ask me why , the 
only explanation I can give is, that the thought besets me, but 
the reason of it I do not know. Do you remember I once 
capriciously refused to let your father go in the cars to Spring- 
field, although his baggage was on board? Those cars went 
through the draw-bridge, and many lives were lost. Write me 
that you will heed my request. 

And now, Henry, son, nephew, friend, good by ! Tell little 
Clara she has an aunt or grandmother (which, shall it be ?) in 
New York who loves to think of her and to picture the fair 
forehead over which the little curl you sent me once fell. By the 
way, I have examined her photograph with a microscope, and 
have conceived a fancy that her eyes are of a slightly different 
color ; one perhaps a gray and the other a mixed blue. Am I 
right ? Tell your wife how I grieve to think that circumstan- 
ces have not allowed us to meet and become personally ac- 
quainted. You now know all the influences that have kept us 
apart, and that have made me seem frigid and ungrateful, even 
when my heart was overflowing with affection. What more 
shall I say, except to sum up all my love for you and all my grati- 
tude in the one parting prayer, Heaven bless you and yours ! 

Your mother, Emily Charlton. 

* Having slept under Toussaint’s roof, and seen him often, the writer can 
testify to the accuracy of this sketch of one of the most thorough gentlemen 
in bearing and in heart that he ever knew. 


IS 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE WOLF AND THE LAMB. 


“Bitten by rage canine of dying rich; 

Guilt’s blunder ! and the loudest laugh of hell ! ” 

Young. 

T HE poor little lady ! First sold by a needy parent to an 
old man, and then betrayed by her own uncalculating affec- 
tions to a young one, whose nature had the torpor without the 
venerableness of age ! Her heart, full of all loving possibili- 
ties, had steered by false lights and been wrecked. Brief had 
been its poor, shattered dream of household joys and domestic 
amenities ! 

It was the old, old story of the cheat and the dupe ; of credu- 
lous innocence overmatched by heartless selfishness and fraud. 

The young man “of genteel appearance and address” who 
last week, as the newspapers tell us, got a supply of dry-goods 
from Messrs. Raby & Co., under false pretences, has been ar- 
rested, and will be duly punished. 

But the scoundrel who tricks a confiding woman out of her 
freedom and her happiness under the false pretences of a dis- 
interested affection and the desire of a loving home, — the 
swindler who, with the motives of a devil of low degree, affects 
the fervor and the dispositions of a loyal heart, — for such an 
impostor the law has no lash, no prison. To play the blackleg 
and the sharper in a matter of the affections is not penal. 
Success consecrates the crime ; and the victim, when her eyes 
are at length opened to the extent of the deception and the 
misery, must continue to submit to a yoke at once hateful and 
demoralizing ; she must submit, unless she is willing to brave 
the ban of society and the persecutions of the law. 

Ralph Charlton, when he gave his wife Berwick’s letter the 
night before, had supposed she would sit down to pen an answer 
as soon as she was alone. And so the next morning, after vis- 
iting his office in Fulton Street, he retraced his steps, and re- 


THE WOLF AND THE LAMB. 


13 


entered his house soon after Toussaint had left, and just as Mrs. 
Charlton had put her signature to the last page of the manu- 
script, and, bowing her forehead on her palms, was giving vent 
to sobs of bitter emotion. 

Charlton was that prodigy in nature, — a young man in whom 
an avarice that would have been remarkable in a senile miser 
had put in subjection all the other passions. Well formed and 
not ungraceful, his countenance was at first rather prepossessing 
and propitiatory. It needed a keener eye than that of the ordi- 
nary physiognomist to penetrate to the inner nature. It was 
only when certain expressions flitted over the features that they 
betrayed him. You must study that countenance and take it at 
unawares before you could divine what it meant. Age had not 
yet hardened it in the mould of the predominant bias of the 
character. Well born and bred, he ought to have been a gen- 
tleman, but it is difficult for a man to be that and a miser at 
the same time. There was little in his style of dress that dis- 
tinguished him from the mob of young business-men, except 
that a critical eye would detect that his clothes were well pre- 
served. Few of his old coats were made to do service on the 
backs of the poor. 

Charlton called himself a lawyer, his specialty being con- 
veyancing and real estate transactions. His one purpose in 
life was to be a rich man. To this end all others must be sub- 
ordinate. When a boy he had been taught to play on the 
flute ; and his musical taste, if cultivated, might have been a 
saving element of grace. But finding that in a single year he 
had spent ten dollars in concert tickets, he indignantly repudi- 
ated music, and shut his ears even to the hand-organs in the 
street. He had inherited a fondness for fine horses. Before 
he was twenty-five he would not have driven out after Ethan 
Allen himself, if there had been any toll-gate keepers to pay. 
His taste in articles of food was nice and discriminating ; but 
he now bought fish and beef of the cheapest, and patronized a 
milkman whose cows were fed on the refuse of the distilleries. 

Charlton was not venturous in speculation. The boldest op- 
eration he ever attempted was that of his marriage. Before 
taking that step he had satisfied himself in regard to the state 
of the late Mr. Berwick’s affairs. They could be disentangled, 


14 


PECULIAR. 


and made to leave a balance of half a million for the heirs, if a 
certain lawsuit, involving a large amount of real estate, should 
be decided the right way. Charlton burrowed and inquired 
and examined till he came to the conclusion that the suit would 
go in favor of the estate. On that hint he took time by the 
forelock, and married the widow. To his consternation matters 
did not turn out as he had hoped. 

As Charlton entered his wife’s room, on the morning she had 
been writing the letter already presented, “ What is all this, 
madam ? ” he exclaimed, advancing and twitching away the 
manuscript that lay before her. 

The lady thus startled rose and looked at him without speak- 
ing, as if struggling to comprehend what he had done. At 
length a gleam of intelligence flashed from her eyes, and she 
mildly said, “ I will thank you to give me back those papers : 
they are mine. ” 

“ Mine, Mrs. Charlton ! Where did you learn that word ? ” 
said the husband, really surprised at the language of his usually 
meek and acquiescent helpmate. 

“ Do you not mean to give them back ? ” 

“ Assuredly no. To whom is the letter addressed ? Ah ! I 
see. To Mr. Henry Berwick. Highly proper that I should 
read what my wife writes to a young man. ” 

“ Then you do not mean to give the letter back, Charlton ? ” 
Another surprise for the husband! At first she used to 
speak to him as “ Ralph, ” or “ dear ” ; then as “ Mr. Charl- 
ton ” ; then as “ Sir ” ; and now it was plain “ Charlton.” 
What did it portend? 

The lady held out her hand, as if to receive the papers. 
u Pooh ! ” said the husband, striking it away. “ Go and 
attend to your housework. What a shrill noise your canary 
is making ! That bird must be sold. There was a charge of 
seventy-five cents for canary-seed in my last grocer’s bill ! It ’s 
atrocious. The creature is eating us out of house and home. 
Bird and cage would bring, at least, five dollars.” 

“ The letter, — do you choose to give it back ? ” 

“ If, after reading it, I think proper to send it to its address, 
it shall be sent. Give yourself no further concern about it.” 
Mrs. Charlton advanced with folded arms, looked him un- 


THE WOLF AND THE LAMB. 


15 


blenchingly in the face, and gasped forth, with a husky, half- 
choked utterance, “ Beware ! ” 

“Truly, madam,” said the astonished husband^ “ this is a 
new character for you to appear in, and one for which I am 
i not prepared.” 

“ It is for that reason I say, Beware ! Beware when the 
tame, the submissive, the uncomplaining woman is roused at 
last. Will you give me that letter ? ” 

“ Go to the Devil ! ” 

Mrs. Charlton threw out her hand and clutched at the man- 
uscript, but her husband had anticipated the attempt. As 
she closed with him in the effort to recover the paper, he 
threw her off so forcibly that she fell and struck her head 
against one of the protuberant claws of the legs of her writing- 
table. 

Whatever were the effects of the blow, it did not prevent 
the lady from rising immediately, and composing her exuber- 
ant hair with a gesture of puzzled distress that would have 
excited pity in the heart of a Thug. But Charlton did not 
even inquire if she were hurt. After a pause she seemed to 
recover her recollection, and then threw up her head with a 
j lofty gesture of resolve, and quitted the room. 

Her husband sat down and read the letter. His equanimity 
was unruffled till he came to the passage where the writer 
i alludes to the gold casket she had put aside for little Clara. 
At that disclosure he started to his feet, and gave utterance 
to a hearty execration upon the woman who had presumed to 
circumvent him by withholding any portion of her effects. 

; He opened the door and called, “ Wife !”. No voice replied to 
[ his summons. He sought her in her chamber. She was not 
! there. She had left the house. So Dorcas, the one over- 
worked domestic of the establishment, assured him. 

Charlton saw there was no use in scolding. So he put on 
his hat and walked down Broadway to his office. Here he 
wrote a letter which he wished to mail before one o’clock. It 
was directed to Colonel Delaney Hyde, Philadelphia. Having 
finished it and put it in the mail-box, Charlton took his way at 
a brisk pace to the house of old Toussaint. 

That veteran himself opened the door. A venerable black 


lfi 


PECULIAR. 




man, reminding one of Ben Franklin in ebony. His wool was I 
gray, his complexion of the blackest, showing an unmixed Af- 
rican descent. He was of middling height, and stooped slight- ] 
ly ; was attired in the best black broadcloth, with a white vest j 
and neckcloth, and had the manners of a French marquis of 
the old school. 

“ Is my wife here ? ” asked Charlton. 

“ Madame is here,” replied the old man ; “ but she suffers, j 
and prays to be not disturbed.” 

“ I must see her. Conduct me to her.” 

“ Pardonnez. Monsieur will comprehend as I say the com- 1 
mands of Madame in this house are sacred.” 

“ You insolent old nigger ! do you mean to tell me I am not 1 
to see my own wife ? ” 

“ Precisement. Monsieur cannot see Madame Charlton.” 

“ I ’ll search the house for her, at any rate. Out of the way, 
you blasted old ape!” 

Here a policeman, provided for the occasion by Toussaint, j 
and who had been smoking in the front room opening on the 
hall, made his appearance. 

“ You can’t enter this house,” said Blake, carelessly knock- ' 
ing the ashes from his cigar. Charlton had a wholesome respect 
for authority. He drew back on seeing the imperturbable 
Blake, with the official star on his breast, and said, “ I came 
here, Mr. Blake, to recover a little gold box that I have reason ] 
to believe my wife has left with this old nigger.” 

“Well, she might have left it in worse hands, — eh, Tous- : 
saint ? ” said Blake, resuming his cigar ; and then, removing , 
it, he added, “ If you call this old man a nigger again, I ’ll 
make a nigger of you with my fist.” 

Toussaint might have taken for his motto that of the old 
eating-house near the Park, — “Semper paratus” The gold box : 
having been committed to him to deposit in a place of safety, 
he had meditated long as to the best disposition he could make 
of it. As he stood at the window of his house, looking thought- : 
fully out, he saw coming up the street a gay old man, swing- < 
ing a cane, humming an opera tune, and followed by a little 
dog. As the dashing youth drew nearer, Toussaint recognized 
in him an old acquaintance, and a man not many years his 
junior, — Mr. Albert Pompilard, stock-broker, Wall Street. 


THE WOLF AND THE LAMB. 


17 


No two men could be more unlike than Toussaint and Pom- 
pilard ; and yet they were always drawn to each other by some 
subtle points of attraction. Pompilard was a reckless specu- 
lator and spendthrift ; Toussaint, a frugal and cautious econo- 
mist ; but he had been indebted for all his best investments to 
Pompilard. Bold and often audacious in his own operations, 
Pompilard never would allow Toussaint to stray out of the 
path of prudence. ^ Not unfrequently Pompilard would founder 
in his operations on the stock exchange. He would fall, per- 
haps, to a depth where a few hundred dollars would have been 
hailed as a rope flung to a drowning man. Toussaint would 
often come to him at these times and offer a thousand dollars 
or so as a loan. Pompilard, in order not to hurt the negro’s 
feelings, would take it and pretend to use it; but it would 
be always put securely aside, out of his reach, or deposited in 
some bank to Toussaint’s credit. 

Toussaint stood at his door as Pompilard drew nigh. 

u Ha ! good morning, my guide, philosopher, and friend ! ” 
exclaimed the stock-broker. “ What ’s in the wind now, Tous- 
saint ? Any money to invest ? ” 

“ No, Mr. Pompilard ; but here ’s a box that troubles me.” 

“ A box ! Not a pill-box, I hope ? Let me look at it. 
Beautiful ! beautiful, exceedingly ! It could not be dupli- 
cated for twelve hundred dollars. Whose is it ? Ah ! here ’s 
an inscription, — 1 Henry Berwick to Emily .’ Berwick ? It 
was a Henry Berwick who married my wife’s niece, Miss 
Aylesford.” 

“ This box,” interposed Toussaint, “ was the gift of his late 
father to his second wife, the present Mrs. Charlton.” 

“ Ah ! yes, I remember the connection now.” 

“ Mrs. Charlton wishes me to deposit the box where, in the 
event of her death, it will reach the daughter of the present 
Mrs. Berwick. Here is the direction on the envelope.” 

Pompilard read the words : “ For Clara Aylesford Berwick, 
daughter of Henry Berwick, Esq., to be delivered to her in 
the event of the death of the undersigned, Emily Charlton.” 

“ I will tell you what to do,” said Pompilard. “ Here come 
Isaac Jones of the Chemical and Arthur Schermerhorn. Isaac 
shall give a receipt for the box and deposit it in the safe of the 


18 


PECULIAR. 


bank, there to be kept till called for by Miss Clara Berwick or 
her representative.” 

“ That will do,” said Toussaint. 

The two gentlemen were called in, and in five minutes the 
proper paper was drawn up, witnessed, and signed, and Mr. 
Jones gave a receipt for the box. 

Briefly Toussaint now explained to Charlton the manner in 
which the box had been disposed of. Charlton was nonplussed. 
It would not do to disgust the officials at the Chemical. It 
might hurt his credit. A consolatory reflection struck him. 
“ Do you say my wife is suffering ? ” he asked. 

“ Madame will need a physician,” replied the negro. “ I have 
sent for Dr. Hull.” 

“Well, look here, old gentleman, I’m responsible for no 
debts of your contracting on her account. I call Mr. Blake to 
witness. If you keep her here, it must be at your own expense. 
Not a cent shall you ever have from me” 

“ That will not import,” replied Toussaint, with the hauteur 
of a prince of the blood. 

Felicitating himself on having got rid of a doctor’s bill, 
Charlton took his departure. 

“ The exceedingly poor cuss ! ” muttered Blake, tossing after 
him the stump of a cigar. 

“ Let me pay you for your trouble, Mr. Blake,” said Tous- 
saint. 

“ Not a copper, Marquis ! I have been here only half an 
hour, and in that time have read the newspaper, smoked one 
regalia, quality prime, and pocketed another. If that is not 
pay enough, you shall make it up by curling my hair the next 
time I go to a ball.” 

“ But take the rest of the cigars.” 

“ There, Marquis, you touch me on my weak point. Thank 
you. Good by, Toussaint!” 

Toussaint closed the door, and called to his wife in a whis- 
per, speaking in French, “ How goes it, Juliette ?” 

“ Hist ! She sleeps. She wishes you to put this letter in 
the post-office as soon as possible. If you can get the canary- 
bird, do it. I hope the doctor will be here soon.” 

Toussaint left at once to mail the invalid’s letter and get 
possession of her bird. 


A FUGITIVE CHATTEL. 


19 


CHAPTER IV. 
A FUGITIVE CHATTEL. 


“ The providential trust of the South is to perpetuate the institution of domestic slavery 
as now existing, with freest scope for its natural development. We should at once lift 
ourselves intelligently to the highest moral ground, and proclaim to all the world that we 
hold this trust from God, and in its occupancy are prepared to stand or fall.” — Rev. Dr. 
i Palmer of New Orleans , 1861. 

T HE next morning Charlton sat in his office, calculating 
his percentage on a transaction in which he had just acted 
as mediator between borrower and lender. The aspect of the 
figures, judging from his own, was cheerful. 

The office was a gloomy little den up three flights of stairs. 
All the furniture was second hand, and the carpet was ragged 
and dirty. No broom or dusting-cloth had for months molested 
the ancient, solitary reign of the spiders on the ceiling. A 
pile of cheap slate-colored boxes with labels stood against the 
wall opposite the stove. An iron safe served also as a dressing- 
table between the windows that looked out on the street ; and 
over it hung a small rusty mirror in a mahogany frame with a 
dirty hair-brush attached. The library of the little room was 
confined to a few common books useful for immediate refer- 
ence; a City Directory, a copy of the Revised Statutes, the 
Clerk’s Assistant, and a dozen other volumes, equally recondite. 

There was a knock at the door, and Charlton cried Gut, 
“ Come in ! ” 

The visitor was a negro whose face was of that fuliginous 
hue that bespeaks an unmixed African descent. He was of 
medium height, square built, with the shoulders and carriage 
of an athlete. He seemed to be about thirty years of age. 
His features, though of the genuine Ethiopian type, were a 
refinement upon it rather than an exaggeration. The expression 
was bright, hilarious, intelligent ; frank and open, you would 
add, unless you chanced to detect a certain quick oblique 
glance which would flash upon you now and then, and vanish 
before you could well realize what it meant. Across his left 


20 


PECULIAR. 


cheek was an ugly sear, almost deep enough to be from a cut- 
lass wound. 

“ Good morning, Peculiar. Take a chair.” 

“ Not that name, if you please, Mr. Charlton,” said the 
negro, closing the door and looking eagerly around to see if 
there had been a listener. “Kemember, you are to call me 
Jacobs.” 

“ Ah yes, I forgot. Well, Jacobs, I am glad to see you ; 
but you are a few minutes before the time. It is n’t yet 
twelve. Just step into that little closet and wait there till I 
call you.” 

The negro did as he was directed, and Charlton closed the 
door upon him. Five minutes after, the clock of Trinity 
struck twelve, and there was another knock at the door. 

Before we suffer it to be answered, we must go back and 
describe an interview that took place some seven weeks pre- 
viously, in the same office, between Charlton and the negro. 

A year before that first interview, Charlton had, in some 
accidental way, been associated with a well-known antislav- 
ery counsel, in a case in which certain agents* of the law for 
the rendition of fugitive slaves had been successfully foiled. 
Though Charlton’s services had been unessential and purely 
mercenary, he had shared in the victor’s fame ; and the grate- 
ful colored men who employed him carried off the illusion that 
he was a powerful friend of the slave. And so when Mr. Pe- 
culiar, alias Mr. Jacobs, found himself in New York, a fugitive 
from bondage, he was recommended, if he had any little mis- 
givings as to his immunity from persecution and seizure, to 
apply to Mr. Charlton as to a fountain of legal profundity and 
philanthropic expansiveness. Greater men than our colored 
brethren have jumped to conclusions equally far from the truth 
in regard not only to lawyers, but military generals. 

Charlton’s primary investigations, in his first interview with 
Peek, had reference to the amount of funds that the negro 
could raise through his own credit and that of his friends. 
This amount the lawyer found to be small ; and he was about 
to express his dissatisfaction in emphatic terms, when a new 
consideration withheld him. Affecting that ruling passion of 
universal benevolence which the fond imagination of his colored 


A FUGITIVE CHATTEL. 


21 


client had attributed to him, he pondered a moment, then 
spoke as follows: 

“ You tell me, Jacobs, you are in the delicate position of a 
fugitive slave. I love the slave. Am I not a friend and a 
brother, and all that? But if you expect me to serve you, 
you must be entirely frank, — disguise nothing, — disclose to 
me your real history, name, and situation, — make a clean breast 
of it, in short.” 

v “ That I will do, sir. I know, if I trust a lawyer at all, I 
ought to trust him wholly.” 

There was nothing in the negro’s language to indicate the 
traditional slave of the stage and the novel, who always says 
“ Massa,” and speaks a gibberish indicated to the eye by a 
cheap misspelling of words. A listener who had not seen 
him would have supposed it was an educated white gentleman 
who was speaking ; for even in the tone of his voice there was 
an absence of the African peculiarity. 

“My friends tell me I may trust you, sir,” said Jacobs, ad- 
vancing and looking Charlton square in the face. Charlton 
must have blenched for an instant, for the negro, as a slight but 
significant compression of the lip seemed to portend, drew back 
from confidence. “ Can I trust you ? ” he continued, as if he 
were putting the question as much to himself as to Charlton. 
There was a pause. 

Charlton took from his drawer a letter, which he handed to 
the negro, with the remark, “ You know how to read, I sup- 
pose.” 

Without replying, Peek took the letter and glanced over it, 
. — a letter of thanks from a committee of colored citizens in 
return for Charlton’s services in the case already alluded to. 
Peek was reassured by this document. He returned it, .and 
said, “ I will trust you, Mr. Charlton.” 

“ Take a seat then, Jacobs, and I will make such notes of 
your story as I may think advisable.” 

Peek did as he was invited ; but Charlton seemed interested 
mainly in dates and names. A more faithful reporter would 
have presented the memorabilia of the narrative somewhat in 
this form : 

“Was born on Herbert’s plantation in Marshall County, 


22 


PECULIAR. 


Mississippi. Mother a house-slave. When he was four years 
old she was sold and taken to Louisiana. His real name not 
Jacobs. That name he took recently in New York. The 
name he was christened by was Peculiar Institution. It 
was given to him by one Ewell, a drunken overseer, and was 
soon shortened to Peek, which name has always stuck to him. 
Was brought up a body servant till his fourteenth year. Soon 
found that the way for a slave to get along was to lie, but* to 
lie so as not to be found out. Grew to be so expert a liar, that i 
among his fellows he was called the lawyer. No offence to 
you, Mr. Charlton. 

“As soon as he could carry a plate, was made to wait at 
table. Used to hear the gentlemen and ladies talk at meals, j 
Could speak their big words before he knew their meaning. 
Kept his ears and eyes well open. An old Spanish negro,! 
named Alva, taught him by stealth to read and write. When 
the young ladies took their lessons in music, this child stood by 
and learnt as much as they did, if not more. Learnt to play \ 
so well on the piano that he was often called on to show off 
before visitors. 

“ Was whipped twice, and then not badly, at Herbert’s : once 
for stealing some fruit, once for trying to teach a slave to read, j 
Family very pious. Old Herbert used to read prayers every 
morning. But he did n’t mind making a woman give up one , 
husband and take another. Did n’t mind separating mother , 
and child. Did n’t mind shooting a slave for disobedience. 
Saw him do it once. Herbert had told Big Sam not to go with > 
a certain metif girl; for Herbert was as particular about 
matching his niggers as about his horses and sheep. A jealous 
negro betrayed Sam. Old Herbert found Sam in the metif ' 
girl’s hut, and shot him dead, without giving him a chance to 
beg for mercy.* Well, Sam was only a nigger ; and did n’t Mr. I 
Herbert have family prayers, and go to church twice every} 
Sunday ? AVlio should save his soul alive, if not Mr. Herbert ? \ 

“ In spite of prayers, however, things did n’t go right on the j 

* A fact. The incident, which occurred literally as related (on Bob My-I 
ers’s plantation in Alabama), was communicated to the writer by an eye-i 
witness, a respectable citizen of Boston, once resident* at the South. The ' 
murder, of course, passed not only unpunished, but unnoticed. 


A FUGITIVE CHATTEL. 


23 


plantation. The estate was heavily mortgaged. Finally the 
creditors took it, and the family was broken up. Peculiar was 
sold to one Harkman, a speculator, who let him out as an 
apprentice in New Orleans, in Collins’s machine-shop for the 
repair of steam-engines. But Collins failed, and then Peek 
became a waiter in the St. Charles Hotel. Here he stayed six 
years. Cut his eye-teeth during that time. Used to talk freely 
with Northern visitors about slavery. Studied the big map of 
the United States that hung in the reading-room. Learnt all 
about the hotels, North and South. Stretched his ears wide 
whenever politics were discussed. 

u Having waited on the principal actors and singers of the 
day at the St. Charles, he had a free pass to the theatres. Used 
often to go behind the scenes. Waited on Blitz, Anderson, and 
other jugglers. Saw Anderson show up the humbug, as he 
called it, of spiritual manifestations. Went to church now and 
then. Heard some bad preachers, and some good. Heard Mr. 
Clapp preach. Heard Mr. Palmer preach. After hearing the 
latter on the duties of slaves, tried to run away. Was caught 
and taken to a new patent whipping-machine, recently intro- 
duced by a Yankee. Here was left for a whipping. Bought 
off the Yankee with five dollars, and taught him how to stain 
my back so as to imitate the marks of the lash. Thus no dis- 
credit was brought on the machine. A week after was sold to 
a Bed River planter, Mr. Carberry Ratcliff. 

“ Can never speak of this man calmly. He had a slave, a 
woman white as you are, sir, that he beat, and then tried to 
make me take and treat as my wife. When he found I had 
cheated him, he just had me tied up and whipped till three 
strong men were tired out with the work. It ’s a wonder how 
I survived. My whole back is seamed deep with the scars. 
This scar over my cheek is from a blow he himself gave me 
that day with a strip of raw hide. He sold me to Mr. Barn- 
well in Texas as soon as I could walk, which was n’t for some 
weeks. I left, resolving to come back and kill Ratcliff. I 
meant to do this so earnestly, that the hope of it almost re- 
stored me. Revenge was my one thought, day and night. I 
felt that I could not be at ease till that man Ratcliff had paid 
for his barbarity. Even now I sometimes wake full of wrath 
from my dreams, imagining I have him at my mercy. 


24 


PECULIAR. 


“ I went to Texas with a bad reputation. Was put among , 
the naughty darkies, and sent to the cotton-field. Braxton, thel 
overseer, had been a terrible fellow in his day, but I happer^dl 
to be brought to him at the time he was beginning to get scarea 
about his soul. Soon had things my own way. Braxton made 
me a sort of sub-overseer ; and I got more work out of the 
field-hands by kindness than Braxton had ever got by the 
lash. 

“ One day I discovered on a neighboring plantation an old 
woman who proved to be my mother. She had been brought 
here from Louisiana. She was on the point of dying. She 
knew me, first from hearing my name, and then from a cross 
she had pricked in India ink on my breast. She had n’t seen 
me for sixteen years. Had been having a hard time of it. 
Her hut was . close by a slough, a real fever-hole, and she had 
been sick most of the time the last three years. 

“ The old woman flashed up bright on finding me : gave me 
a long talk ; told me little stories of when I was a child ; told 
me how my father had been sold to an Alabama man, and shot 
dead for trying to break away from a whipping-post. All at 
once she said she saw angels, drew me down to her, and dropped 
away quiet as a lamb, so that, though my forehead lay on her 
breast, I did n’t know when she died. 

“ After this loss, I was pretty serious. Was n’t badly treated. 
My master, an educated gentleman, was absent in New Orleans 
most of the time. Overseer Braxton, after the big scare he 
got about his soul, grew to be humane, and left almost every- 
thing to me. But I felt sick of life, and wanted to die, though 
not before I had killed Ratcliff. One day I heard that Corinna, 
a quadroon girl, a slave on the plantation, had fallen into a 
strange state, during which she preached 'as no minister had 
ever preached before. I had known her as a very ordinary and 
rather stupid girl. Went to see her in one of her trances. 
Found that report had fallen short of the real case. Was 
astonished at what I saw and heard. Saw what no white man 
would believe, and so felt I was wiser on one point than all the 
white men. My interviews with Corinna soon made me forget 
about Ratcliff; and when she died, six weeks after my first 
visit, felt my mind full of things it would take me a lifetime 
to think out and settle. 


A FUGITIVE CHATTEL. 


25 


After Corinna’s death, I stayed some months on the plan- 
tation, though I had a chance to leave. Stayed because I had 
an easy time and because I found I could be of use to the 
slaves ; and further, because I had resolved, if ever I got free, 
it should be by freeing myself. A white man, a Mr. Vance, 
whose life I had saved, wanted to buy and free me. I made 
him spend his money so it would show for more than just the 
freeing of one man. But Braxton, the overseer, who was let- 
ting me have pretty much my own way, at last died; and 
Hawks, his successor, was of opinion that the way to get work 
out of niggers was to treat them like dogs ; and so, one pleasant 
moonlight night, I made tracks for Galveston. Here, by 
means of false papers, I managed to get passage to New Or- 
leans, and there hid myself on board a Yankee schooner bound 
for New London, Connecticut. When she was ten days out, 
I made my appearance on deck, much to the surprise of the 
crew. Fifteen days afterwards we arrived in the harbor of 
New London. 

“Old Skinner, the captain, had been playing possum with 
me all the voyage, — keeping dark, and pretending to be my 
friend, meaning all the while to have me arrested in port. No 
sooner had he dropped anchor than he sent on shore for the 
officers. But the mate tipped me the wink. ‘ Darkey,’ said 
he, ‘do you see that little green fishing-boat yonder? Well, 
that belongs to old Payson, an all-fired abolitionist and friend 
of the nigger. Our Captain and crew are all under hatches, 
and now if you don’t want to be a lost nigger, jest you drop 
down quietly astern, swim off to Payson, and tell him who you 
are, and that the slave-catchers are after you. If old Payson 
don’t put you through after that, it will be because it is n’t old 
Payson.’ 

“ I did as the mate told me. Reached the fishing-boat. Found 
old Payson, a gnarled, tough, withered old sea-dog, who com- 
prehended at once what was in the wind, and cried, ‘ Ha ! ha ! ’ 
like the war-horse that snuffs the battle. Just as I got into 
the boat, Captain Skinner came up on the schooner’s deck, and 
saw what had taken place. The schooner’s small boat had 
been sent ashore for the officers whose business it was to carry 
out the Fugitive-Slave Law. What could Skinner do ? Visions 


26 


PECULIAR. 


of honors and testimonials and rewards and dinners from Tex- 
an slaveholders, because of his loyalty to the institution in 
returning a runaway nigger, suddenly vanished. He paced 
the deck in a rage. To add to his fury, old Payson, while I 
stood at the bows, dripping and grinning, came sailing up 
before a stiff breeze, and passed within easy speaking distance, 
Payson pouring in such a volley of words that Skinner was 
dumbfounded. 4 1 ’ll make New London too hot for you, you 
blasted old skinflint ! ’ cried Payson. ‘ You ’d sell your own 
sister just as soon as you ’d sell this nigger, you would ! Let 
me catch you ashore, and I ’ll give you the blastedest thrashing 
you ever got yet, you infernal doughface, you ! Go and lick 
the boots of slaveholders. It ’s jest what you was bom for.’ 

“ And the little sail-boat passed on out of hearing. Payson 
got in the track of one of the spacious steamboats that ply 
between the cities of Long Island Sound and New York, and 
managed to throw a line, so as to be drawn up to the side. 
We then got on board. In six hours, we were in New 
York. Payson put me in the proper hands, bade me good by, 
returned to his sail-boat, and made the best speed he could 
back to New London, fired with hopes of pitching into that 
‘ meanest of all mean skippers, old Skinner.’ 

“ This was three years ago. The despatch agents of the 
underground railroad hurried me off to Canada. As soon as I 
judged it safe, I returned to New York. Here I got a good 
situation as head-waiter at Bunker’s. Am married. Have a 
boy, named Sterling, a year old. Am very happy with my 
wife and child and my hired piano. But now and then I and 
my wife have an alarm lest I shall be seized and carried back 
to slavery.” 

Here Mr. Institution finished his story, which we have con- 
densed, generally using, however, his own words. Charlton 
did not subject him to much cross-questioning. He asked, first , 
what was the name of the schooner in which Peek had escaped 
from Texas. It was the Albatross. Charlton made a note. 
Second , did Mr. Barnwell, Peek’s late master, have an agent 
in New Orleans ? Yes ; Peek had often seen the name on 
packages : P. Herman & Co. And, third , did Peek marry his 
wife in Canada? Yes. Then she, too, is a fugitive slave, eh? 


A FUGITIVE CHATTEL. 


27 


Peek seemed reluctant to answer this question, and flashed 
a quick, distrustful glance on Charlton. The latter assumed 
an air of indifference, and said, “ Perhaps you had better not 
answer that question ; it is immaterial.” 

Again Peek’s mind was relieved. 

“That is enough for the preseSt, Mr. Jacobs,” continued 
Charlton. “ If I have occasion to see you, I can always find 
you at Bunker’s, I suppose.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Charlton. Inquire for John Jacobs. Keep a 
bright lookout for me, and you sha’n’t be the loser. Will five 
dollars pay you ? ” 

Charlton wavered between the temptation to clutch more at 
the moment, and the prospect of making his new client avail- 
able in other ways. At length taking the money he replied. 
“ I will make it do for the present. Good morning.” 


28 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER V. 

A RETROSPECT. 


' u Any slave refusing obedience to any command may be flogged tilt he submits or dies. 
Not by occasional abuses alone, but by the universal law of the Southern Confederacy 
the existing system of slavery violates all the moral laws of Christianity.” — Rev. New- 
man Hall. 

B EFORE removing Peculiar from the closet which at 
Charlton’s bidding he has entered, we must go back to 
the time when he was a slave, and amplify and illustrate cer- 
tain parts of his abridged narrative. His life, up to the period 
when he comes upon our little stage, divides itself into three 
eras, all marked by their separate moral experiences. In the 
Jirst, he felt the slave’s crowning curse, — the absence of that 
sense of personal responsibility which freedom alone can give ; 
and he fell into the demoralization which is the inherent con- 
sequence of the slave’s condition. In the second era, he en- 
countered his mother, and then the frozen fountain of his affec- 
tions was unsealed and melted. In the third , he met Corinna, 
and for the first time looked on life with the eyes of belief. 

It will seem idle to many advanced minds in this nineteenth 
century to use words to show the wrong of slavery. Why not 
as well spend breath in denouncing burglary or murder ? But 
slavery is still a power in the world. We are daily told it is 
the proper status for the colored man in this country ; that he 
ought to covet slavery as much as a white man ought to covet 
freedom. Besides, since Peek has confessed himself at one 
time of his life a liar, we must show why he ought logically to 
have been one. 

To blame a slave for lying and stealing, is about as fair as it 
would be to blame a man for using strategy in escaping from 
an assassin. For the slaveholder, if not the assassin of tbo 
slave’s life, is the assassin of his liberty, his manhood, his moral 
dignity. 

Mr. Pugh of Ohio, Yallandigham’s associate on the guber- 


A RETROSPECT. 


29 


natorial ticket for 1863, presents his thesis thus: “When the 
slaves are fit for freedom, they will be free.” 

The profundity of this oracular proposition is only equalled 
in the remark of the careful grandmother, who declared she 
would never let a boy go into the water till he knew how to 
swim. 

“ When the slaves are fit ! ” As if the road were clear for 
them to achieve their fitness ! Why, the slave is not only 
robbed of his labor, but of his very chances as a thinking 
being. Yes, with a charming consistency, the slavery barons, 
the Hammonds and the Davises, while they tell us the negro 
is unfitted for mental cultivation, institute the severest penal 
laws against all attempts to teach the slave to read ! 

The first natural instinct of the slave, black or white, towards 
his master is, to cheat and baffle that armed embodiment of 
wrong, who stands to him in the relation of a thief and a ty- 
rant. Thus, from his earliest years, lying and fraud become 
legitimate and praiseworthy in the slave’s eyes ; for slavery, 
except under rare conditions, crushes out the moral life in the 
victim. 

Any conscience he may have, being subordinate to the con- 
science of his master, is kept stunted or perverted. The slave 
may wish to be true to his wife ; but his master may compel 
him to repudiate her and take another. He may object to 
being the agent of an injustice ; but the snap of the whip or 
the revolver may be the reply to any conscientious scruples he 
may offer against obedience. 

In the first stage of his slave-life, Peculiar probably gave 
little thought to the moral bearings of his lot ; although old 
Alva, his instructor, who was something of a casuist, had 
offered him not a few hard nuts to crack in the way of knotty 
questions. But Peculiar did precisely what you or I would 
have done under similar circumstances : he taxed his ingenu- 
ity to find how he could most safely shirk the tasks that were 
put upon him. Knowing that his taskmasters had no right to 
his labor, that they were, in fact, robbing him of what was his 
own, he did what he could to fool and circumvent them. Thus 
he grew to be, by a necessity of his condition, the most con- 
summate of hypocrites and the most intrepid and successful of 


30 


PECULIAR. 


liars. At eighteen he was a match for Talleyrand in using 
speech to conceal his thoughts. 

He saw that, if slaves were well treated, it was because the 
prudent master believed that good treatment would pay. Hu- 
manity was gauged by considerations of cotton. Thus the very 
kindnesses of a master had the taint of an intense selfishness ; 
and Peculiar, while readily availing himself of all indulgences, 
correctly appreciated the spirit in which they were granted. 

The devotional element seems to be especially active in the 
negro ; but it has little chance for rational development, dwarfed 
and kept from the light as the intellect is. The uneducated slave, 
like the Italian brigand, — indeed, like many worthy people who 
go to church, — thinks it an impertinence to mix up morality 
with religion. He agrees fully with the distinguished American 
divine, who the other Sunday began his sermon with these 
words, “ Brethren, I am not here to teach you morality, but to 
save your souls.” As if a saving faith could exist allied to a 
corrupt morality! 

Peculiar could not come in contact with a sham, however 
solemn and pretentious, without applying to it the puncture 
of his skeptical analysis. He saw his master, Herbert, go to 
church on a Sunday and kneel in prayer, and on a Monday 
shoot down Big Sam for attaching himself to the wrong woman. 
He saw the Rev. Mr. Bloom take the murderer by the hand, as 
if nothing had happened more tragical than the shooting of a 
raccoon. 

And then Peculiar cogitated, wondering what religion could 
be, if its professors made such slight account of robbery and 
murder. Was it the observance of certain forms for the pro- 
pitiation of an arbitrary, capricious, and unamiable Power, who 
smiled on injustice and barbarity ? The more he thought of it, 
the more inexplicable grew the puzzle. Herbert evidently 
regarded himself as one of the elect; and Mr. Bloom en- 
couraged him in his security. If heaven was to be won by 
such kind of service as theirs, Peculiar concluded that he 
would prefer taking his chances in hell; and so he became a 
scoffer. 

His residence in New Orleans, in enlarging the sphere of his 
experiences, did not bring him the light that could quicken the 


A RETROSPECT. 


31 


devotional part of his nature. Dwelling most of the time in 
a hotel which frequently contained three or four hundred in- 
mates, he was thrown among white men of all grades, intellect- 
ual and moral. He instinctively felt his superiority both ways 
to not a few of these. It was therefore a swindling lie to say 
that the blacks were born to be the thrall of the whites, that 
slavery was the proper status of the black in this or any coun- 
try. If it were true that stupid blacks ought to be slaves, 
so must it be true of the same order of whites. 

He heard preachers stand up in their pulpits, and, like the 
Rev. Dr. Palmer, blaspheme God by calling slavery a Divine 
institution. “ Would it have been tolerated so long, if it were 
not ? ” they asked, with the confidence of a conjurer when he 
means to hocus you. To which Peek might have answered, 
“Would theft and murder have been tolerated so long, if they 
were not equally Divine ? ” The Northern clergymen he en- 
countered held usually South-side views of the subject, and 
so his prejudices against the cloth grew to be somewhat too 
sweeping and indiscriminate. Judged of by its relations to 
slavery, religion seemed to him an audacious system of imposi- 
tions, raised to fortify a lie and a wrong by claiming a Divine 
sanction for .merely human creeds and inventions. 

This persuasion was deepened when he found there were 
intelligent white men utterly incredulous as to a future state, 
and that the people who went to church were many of them 
practically, and many of them speculatively, infidels. The re- 
maining fraction might be, for all he knew, not only devout, 
but good and just. Indeed, he had met some such, but they 
could be almost counted on his ten fingers. 

One day at the St. Charles he overheard a discussion be- 
tween Mr. James Sterling, an English traveller, and the Rev. 
Dr. Manners of Virginia. Slaves are good listeners ; and 
Peculiar had sharpened his sense of hearing by the frequent 
exercise of it under difficulties. He was an amateur in key- 
holes. On this occasion he had only to open a ventilating 
window at the top of a partition, and all that the disputants 
might say would be for his benefit. 

“ Will you deny, sir,” asked the reverend Doctor, u that 
slavery has the sanction of Scripture?” 


32 


PECULIAR. 


“ I exclude that inquiry as impertinent at present,” said 
Sterling. “If Scripture authorized murder, then it would not 
be murder that would be right, but Scripture that would be 
wrong. And so in regard to slavery. On that particular 
point Scripture must not be admitted as authoritative. It 
cannot override the enlightened human conscience. It cannot 
render null the deductions of science and of reason on a ques- 
tion that manifestly comes within their sphere. ” 

“ All ! if you reject Scripture, then I have nothing more to 
say,” retorted the Doctor. But, after a pause, he added, 
“ Have you not generally found the slaves well treated and 
contented ? ” 

“ A system under which they are well treated and made con- 
tent,” replied Sterling, “ is really the most to be deplored and 
condemned. If slavery could so brutalize men’s minds as to 
make them hug their chains and glory in degradation, it would 
be, in my eyes, doubly cursed. But it is not so ; the slaves 
are not happy, and I thank God for it. There is manhood 
enough left in them to make them at least unhappy.”* 

“ You assume the equality of the races, ” interposed the 
Doctor. 

“ It is unnecessary for my argument to make any such as- 
sumption,” said Sterling. “ I have found that many black men 
are superior to many white men, and some of those white men 
slaveholders. I do not assume this. I know it. I have seen 
it. But even if the black men were inferior, I hold, that man, 
as man, is an end unto himself, and that to use him as a brute 
means to the ends of other men is to outrage the laws of God. 
I take my stand far above the question of happiness or un- 
happiness. Have you noticed the young black man, called 
Peek, who waits behind my chair at table ? ” 

“ Yes, a bright-looking lad. He anticipates your wants well. 
You have feed him, I suppose ? ” 

“ I have given him nothing. I have put a few questions to 
him, that is all ; and what I have to say is, that he is supe- 
rior in respect to brains to nine tenths of the white youth who 
suck juleps in your bar-rooms or kill time at your billiard- 
tables.” 

* Soe James Sterling’s “ Letters from the Slave States.” 


A RETROSPECT. 


S3 


“ As soon as the Abolitionists will stop their infatuated clam- 
or,” replied the Doctor, “ the condition of the slave will be 
gradually improved, and we shall give more and more care to 
his religious education.” 

“ So long as the negro is ruled by force,” returned Mr. Ster- 
ling, “ no forty-parson power of preaching can elevate his char- 
acter. It is a savage mockery to prate of duty to one in whom 
we have emasculated all power of will. We cannot make a 
moral intelligence of a being we use as a mere muscular force.” 

“ All that the South wants,” exclaimed the Doctor, “ is to be 
let alone in the matter of slavery. If there are any allevia- 
tions in the system which can be safely applied, be sure they 
will not be lacking as soon as we are let alone by the fanatics 
of the North. Leave the solution of the problem to the intel- 
ligence and humanity of the South.” 

“ Not while new cotton-lands pay so well ! Be sure, rever- 
end sir, if the South cannot quickly find a solution of this slave 
problem, God will find one for them, and that, trust me, will be. 
a violent one. American civilization and American slavery 
can no longer exist together. One or the other must be de- 
stroyed. For my part, I can’t believe it to be the Divine 
purpose that a remnant of barbarism shall overthrow the civ- 
ilization of a new world. Slavery must succumb.” * 

“ I recommend you, Mr. Sterling, not to raise your voice 
quite so high when you touch upon these dangerous topics here 
at the South. I will bid you good evening, sir.” 

* This last paragraph embodies the actual words of Mr. Sterling, published 
in 1866 . 


2 * 


C 


34 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER VI 


PIN-HOLES IN THE CURTAIN. 


u The reader will here be led into the great, ill-famed land of the marvellous.” 


Ennemoser. 



IHE conversation between the English traveller and the 


A Virginia Doctor -of Divinity was brought to a close, and 
Peek jumped down from the table on which he had been lis- 
tening, refreshed and inspired by the eloquent words he had 
taken in. 

A week afterwards he made a second attempt to escape from 
bondage. He was caught and sold to Mr. Carberry Ratcliff, 
who had an estate on the Red River. Here, failing in obedi- 
ence to an atrocious order, he received a punishment, the scars 
of which always remained to show the degree of its barbarity. 
He was soon after sent to Texas, where he became the slave 
of Mr. Barnwell. 

Here he was at first put to the roughest work in the cotton- 
field. It tasked all his ingenuity to slight or dodge it. Luck- 
ily for him, about the time of his arrival he found an opportu- 
nity to make profitable use of the ecclesiastical knowledge he 
had derived from the Rev. Messrs. Bloom and Palmer. 

Braxton, the overseer, had been frightened into a concern 
for his soul. He had a heart-complaint which the doctor told 
him might carry him off any day in a flash. A travelling 
preacher completed the work of terror by satisfying him he 
was in a fair way of being damned. The prospect did not 
seem cheerful to Braxton. He had found exhilaration and 
comfort in whipping intractable niggers. The amusement 
now began to pall. Besides, the doctor had told him to shun 
excitement. 

In this state of things, enter Mr. Peculiar Institution. That 
gentleman soon learnt what was the matter ; and he contrived 
that the overseer, seemingly by accident, should overhear him 
at prayers. Braxton had heard praying, but never any that 


PIN-HOLES IN THE CURTAIN. 


So 


had the unction of Peek’s. From that time forth Peek had 
him completely under his control. 

Peek did not abuse his authority. He ruled wisely, though 
despotically. At last the accidental encounter with his dying 
mother introduced a new world of thoughts and emotions. 
Short as was his opportunity for acquaintance with her, such a 
wealth of tenderness and love as she lavished upon him devel- 
oped a hitherto inactive and undreamed-of force in his soul. 
The affectional part of his nature was touched. She told him 
of the delight his father used to take in playing with him, an 
infant ; and when he thought of that father’s fate, shot down 
for resisting the lash, he felt as if he could tear the first up- 
holder of slavery he might meet limb from limb, in his rage. 

The mother died, and then all seemed worthless and insipid 
to Peek. Having seen how little heed was paid to the feel- 
ings of slaves in separating those of opposite sex who had 
become attached to each other, he early in life resolved to shun 
all sexual intimacies, till he should be free. He saw that in 
slavery the distinction between licit and illicit connections was 
a playful mockery. The thought of being the father of a slave 
was horrible to him ; and neither threats of the lash nor coax- 
ings from masters and overseers could induce him to enter into 
those temporary alliances which Mr. Herbert used pleasantly 
to call “ the holy bonds of matrimony.” His resolution grew 
to be a passion stronger even than desire. 

Thus the affections were undeveloped in him till he encoun- 
tered hi3 mother. He knew of no relative on earth, after her, 
to love, — no one to be loved by. Life stretched before him 
flat, dull, and unprofitable ; and death, — what was that but 
the plunge into nothingness ? 

True, Mr. Herbert and the clergyman who drank claret 
with Mr. Herbert after the latter had shot down Big Sam 
talked of a life beyond the grave ; but could such humbugs 
as they were be believed ? Could the stories be trustworthy, 
which were based mainly on the truth of a book which all the 
preachers (so he supposed) declared was the all-sufficient au- 
thority for slavery ? Well might Peek distrust the promise 
that was said to rest only on writings that were made to supply 
the apology of injustice and bloody wrong! 


36 


PECULIAR. 


While in this state of mind, he heard of Corinna, the quad- 
roon girl. Unattractive in person* slow of apprehension, and 
rarely uttering a word, she had hitherto excited only his pity. 
But now she fell into trances during which she seemed to be 
a new and entirely different being. At his first interview with 
her when she fell into one of these inexplicable states, she 
seized his hand, and imitating the look, actions, and very tone 
of his dying mother, poured forth such a flood of exhortations, 
comfortings, warnings, and encouragements, that he was bewil- 
dered and confounded. 

What could it all mean ? The power that spoke through 
Corinna claimed to be his mother, and seemed to identify 
itself, as far as revelations to the understanding could go. It 
recalled the little incidents that had passed between them in 
the presence of no other witness. It pierced to his inmost 
secrets, — secrets which he well knew he had communicated 
to no human being. 

And yet Peek saw upon reflection that, though a preternat- 
ural faculty was plainly at work, — a faculty that took posses- 
sion of his mind as a photographer does of all the stones, flaws, 
and stains in the wall of a building, — there was no sufficient 
identification of that faculty with the individual he knew as 
his mother. Little that might not already have been in his 
own mind, long hidden, perhaps, and forgotten, was revealed to 
him. 

He also concluded that the intelligence, whatever it might 
be, was a fallible one, and that it would be folly to give up to 
its guidance his own free judgment. 

He renewed his interviews daily as long as the quadroon 
girl lived. Skeptical, cautious, and meditative, he must test 
all these phenomena over and over again. And he did test 
them. He established conditions. He made records on the 
spot. He removed all possibilities of collusion and deception. 
And still the same phenomena ! 

Nor were they confined to the imperfect wonders of clair- 
voyance and prophecy. Once in the broad daylight, when he 
was alone with the invalid girl in her hut, and no other human 
being within a distance of a quarter of a mile, she was lifted 
horizontally before his eyes into the air, and kept there sway- 


PIN-HOLES IN THE CURTAIN. 


37 


ing about at least a third of a minute, while the drapery of her 
dress clung to her person as if held by an invisible hand.* 

A bandore — a stringed musical instrument the name of which 
has been converted by the negroes into banjo — hung on a nail 
in the wall. One moonlight evening, when no third person was 
present, this African lute was detached by some invisible force 
and carried by it through the room from one end to the other ! 
It would touch Peek on the head, then float away through the 
air, visible to sight, and sending forth from its chords, smitten 
by no mortal fingers, delectable strains. The same invisible 
power would tune the instrument, tightening the strings and 
trying them with a delicate skill ; and then it would hang the 
banjo on its nail. 

After this improvised concert, Peek felt all at once a warm 
living hand upon his forehead, first lovingly patting it and then 
passing round his cheek, under his chin, and up on the other 
side of his face. He grasped the hand, and it returned his 
pressure. It was a hand much larger than Corinna’s, and she 
lay on her back several feet from him, too far to touch him 
with any part of her person. Plainly in the moonlight he 
could see it, — a perfect hand, resembling his mother’s! It 
shaded off into vacuity above the wrist, and, even while he 
held it solid and flesh-like, melted all at once, like an impalpa- 
ble ether, in his grasp.f 

* Similar occurrences are related by Cotton Mather to have taken place in 
Boston in 1693. Six witnesses, whose affidavits he gives, namely, Samuel 
Aves, Robert Earle, John Wilkins, Dan Williams, Thomas Thornton, and 
William Hudson, testify to having repeatedly seen Margaret Rule lifted from 
her bed up near to the ceiling by an invisible force. It is a cheap way of 
getting rid of such testimony to say that the witnesses were false or incom- 
petent. The present writer could name at least six witnesses of his own 
acquaintance now living, gentlemen of character, intelligence, sound senses 
and sound judgment, who will testify to having seen similar occurrences. 
The other phenomena, related as witnessed by Peek, are such as hundreds of 
intelligent men and women in the United States will confirm by their testi- 
mony. Indeed, the number of believers in these phenomena may be now 
fairly reckoned at more than three million. 

f There are thousands of intelligent persons in the United States who 
will testify to the fact of spirit touch. The writer has on several occasions 
felt, though he has not seen, a live hand, guided by intelligence, that he was 
fully convinced belonged to no mortal person present. The conditions were 
such as to debar trick or deception. There are several trustworthy wit- 
nesses, whom the writer could name, who have both seen and felt the phe- 
nomenon, and tested it as thoroughly as Peek is represented to have done. 


38 


PECULIAR. 


These phenomena, with continual variations, were repeated 
day after day and night after night. Flowers would drop from 
the ceiling into his hands, delicious odors of fruits would diffuse 
themselves through the room. A music like that of the Swiss 
bell-ringers would break upon the silence, continuing for a 
minute or more. A pen would start up from the table and 
write an intelligible sentence. A castanet would be played on 
and dashed about furiously, as if by some invisible Bacchante. 
A clatter, as of the hammering of a hundred carpenters, would 
suddenly make itself heard. A voice would speak intelligible 
sentences, sometimes using a tin trumpet for the purpose. Arti- 
cles of furniture would pass about the room and cross each 
other with a swiftness and precision that no mortal could imi- 
tate. The noise of dancers, using their feet, and keeping time, 
would be heard on the floor. 

Once Corinna asked him to leave his watch with her. He 
did so. When he was several rods from the house she called 
to him, “ You are sure you have n’t your watch ? ” “ Yes, 

sure,” replied Peek. He hurried home, a distance of two 
miles, without meeting a human being. On undressing to go 
to bed, he found his watch in his.vest pocket. 

These physical thaumaturgies produced upon Peek a more 
astounding effect than all the evidences of mind-reading and 
clairvoyance. In the communications made to him by the 
“ power,” there was generally something unsatisfying or incom- 
plete. He would, for instance, think of some departed friend, 
— a white man, perhaps, — and, without uttering or writing a 
word, would desire some manifestation from that friend. Im- 
mediately Corinna would strip from her arm the drapery, and 
show on her skin, written in clear crimson letters, some brief 
message signed by the right name. And then the supposed 
bearer of that name (speaking through Corinna) would cor- 
rectly recall incidents of his acquaintance with Peek.* 

* The phenomenon of stigmata appearing on the flesh of impressible me- 
diums is one of the most common of the manifestations of modern Spiritual- 
ism. Sometimes written words and sometimes outline representations of 
objects appear, under circumstances that make deception impossible. The 
writer has often witnessed them. St. Francis, and many other saints of the 
Catholic Church, were the subjects of similar phenomena. The late Earl of 
Shrewsbury, a Catholic nobleman, has published a long account of their 
occurrence during the present century. The Catholic Church has been 
always true to the doctrine of the miraculous. 


PIN-HOLES IN THE CURTAIN. 


39 


Thus much was amazing and satisfactory ; but when Peek 
analyzed it all in thought, he found that no sufficient proof of 
identification had been given. A “power,” able to probe his 
own mind, might get from it all that was spoken relative to the 
individual claiming identity ; might even know how to imitate 
that individual’s handwriting. Peek concluded that one must 
be himself in a spiritual state in order to identify a spirit. The 
so-called “ communications ” he found, for the most part, monot- 
onous. They were, some of them, above Corinna’s capacity, 
but not above his own. Erroneous answers were not unfre- 
quently given, especially in reply to questions upon matters of 
worldly concern. He was repeatedly told of places where he 
could find silver and gold, and never truly. 

He concluded that to surrender one’s faith implicitly to the 
word of a spirit out of the flesh, either on moral or on secular 
questions, was about as unwise as it would be to give one’s self 
up to the control of a spirit in' the flesh, — a mere mortal like 
himself. He was satisfied by his experience that it was not 
in the power of spirits to impair his own freedom of will and 
independence of thought, so long as he exercised them man- 
fully. And this assurance was, to his mind not only a guaranty 
of his own spiritual relationship, but it pointed to a supreme, 
omniscient Spirit, the gracious Father of all. If the words 
that came through Corinna had proved, in every instance, in- 
fallible, what would Peek have become but a passive, unreason- 
ing recipient, as sluggish in thought as Corinna herself ! 

We have said that the “communications” were generally on 
a level with Peek’s own mind. There was once an exception. 
Said a very learned spirit (learned, as to him it seemed) one 
night, speaking through Corinna : — 

“ Attend, even if you do not understand all that I may utter. 
The great purpose of creation is to exercise and develop in- 
dependent, individual thought, and through that, a will in har- 
mony with the Supreme Wisdom. Men are subjected to the 
discipline of the earth-sphere, not to be happy there, but to 
qualify themselves for happiness, — to deserve happiness. 

“What would all created wonders be without thought to 
appreciate and admire them ? Study is worship. Admiration 
is worship. Of what account would be the starry heavens, if 


40 


PECULIAR. 


there were not mind to study and to wonder at creation, and 
thus to fit itself for adoration of the Creator ? 

“ My friend Lessing, when he was on your earth, once said, 
that, if God would give him truth, he would decline the gift, 
and prefer the labor of seeking it for himself. But most men 
are mentally so inert, they would rather believe than examine ; 
and so they flatter themselves that their loose, unreasoning 
acquiescence is a saving belief. Pernicious error ! All the 
mistakes and transgressions of men arise either from feeble, im- 
perfect thinking, or from not thinking at all. 

“ The heart is much, — is principal ; but men must not hope 
to rise until they do their own thinking. They cannot think 
by proxy. They must exercise the mind on all that pertains 
to their moral and mental growth. You may perhaps some- 
times wish that you too, like this poor, torpid, parasitical 
creature, Corinna, might be a medium for outside spirits to 
influence and speak through. But beware ! You know not 
what you wish. Learn to prize your individuality. The wis- 
dom Corinna may utter does not become hers by appropriation. 
In her mind it falls on barren soil. 

“ We all are more or less mediums ; but the innocent man 
is he who resists and overcomes temptation, not he who never 
felt its power ; and the wise man is he who, at once recipient 
and repellent, seeks to appropriate and assimilate with his 
being whatever of good he can get from all the instrumental- 
ities of nature, divine and human, angelic and demoniac.” 

Peek derived an indefinable but awakening impression from 
these words, and asked, “Is the Bible true?” 

The reply was: “It is true only to him who construes it 
aright. If you find in it the justification of American slavery, 
then to you it is not true. All the theologies which would 
impose, as essentials of faith, speculative dogmas or historical 
declarations which do not pertain to the practice of the highest 
human morality and goodness, as taught in the words and the 
example of Christ, are, in this respect at least, irreverent, mis- 
chievous, and untrue.” 

“ How do I know,” asked Peek, “ that you are not a devil ? ” 

“ I am aware of no way,” was the reply, “ by which, in your 
present state, you can know absolutely that I am not a devil, 


PIN-HOLES IN THE CURTAIN. 


41 


*— even Beelzebub, the prince of devils. Each man’s measure 
of truth must be the reason God has given him. But of this 
you may rest assured : it is a great point gained to be able to 
believe really even in a devil. Given a devil, you will one day 
work yourself so far into the light as to believe in an angel.” 

“ Is there a God ? ” asked the slave. 

u God is,” said the spirit, “ and says to thee, as once to Pascal, 

4 Be cousoleb ! ®l)ou tooulbst not seek me, if tijon Ijabst 
not founb me.’ ” 

These were almost the only words Peek ever received 
through Corinna that struck him by their superiority to what 
he himself could have imagined ; and he was impressed by 
them accordingly. Though they were above his comprehen- 
sion at the moment, he thought he might grow up to them, and 
he caused them to be repeated slowly while he wrote them 
down. 

Corinna died, and Peek kept on thinking. 

What rapture in thought now ! What a new meaning in life ! 
What a new universe for the heart was there in love ! Hence- 
forth the burden and the mystery of “ all this unintelligible 
world ” was lightened if not dissolved ; for death was but the step 
to a higher plane of life. The old, trite emblem of the chrysalis 
was no mere barren fancy. Continuous life was now to his 
mind a certainty ; arrived at, too, by the deductions of ex- 
perience, sense, and reason, as well as intimated by the eager 
thirst of the heart. 

The process by which he made the phenomena he had wit- 
nessed conduce to this conclusion was briefly this. An invisible, 
intelligent force had lifted heavy articles before his eyes, played 
on musical instruments, written sentences, and spoken words. 
This force claimed to be a human spirit in a human form, of 
tissues too fine to be visible to our grosser senses. It could 
pass, like heat and electricity, through what might seem mate- 
rial impediments. It had a plastic power to reincarnate itself 
at will, and imitate human forms and colors, under certain cir- 
cumstances, and it gave partial proof of this by showing a 
hand, an arm, or a foot undistinguishable from one of flesh and 
blood. On one occasion the human form entire had been dis- 
played, been touched, and had then dissolved into invisibility 
and intangibility before him 


42 


PECULIAR. 


Now he must either take the word of this intelligent “ force,” 
that it was an independent spiritual entity, or he must account 
for its acts by some other supposition. The “ force, ” in its 
communications to his mind, had shown it was not infallible ; 
it had erred in some of its predictions, although in others it 
had been wonderfully correct. If its explanation of itself was 
untrue, — if no outside intelligent force were operating, — the 
other supposition was, that the phenomena were a proceeding 
either from himself, the spectator, or from Corinna. And here, 
without knowing it, Peek found himself speculating on the 
theory of Count Gasparin,* who has had the candor to brave 
the laugh of modern science (a very different thing from 
scientia) by recounting as facts what Professor Faraday and 
our Cambridge savans denounce as impositions or delusions. 

Peek w&s therefore reduced to these two explanations : either 
the “force” was a spirit (call it, if you please, an outside 
power), as it claimed to be, or it was a faculty unconsciously 
exerted by the mortals present. In either case, it supplied an 
assurance of spirit and immortality ; for it might fairly be pre- 
sumed that such wonderful powers would not be wrapt up in the 
human organism except for a purpose ; and that purpose, what 
could it be but the future development of those powers under 
suitable conditions ? So either of Peek’s hypotheses led to the 
same precious and ineffable conviction of continuous life, — of 
the soul’s immortality! 

On one occasion a Northern Professor, who had given his days 
to the positive sciences, and who believed in matter and motion, 
and nothing else, passed a week, while visiting the South for 
his health, with his old friend and classmate, Mr. Barnwell ; 
and Peek overheard the following conversation. 

“ How do you get rid of all this testimony on the subject ? ” 
asked Mr. Barnwell. 

“ Stuff and nonsense ! ” exclaimed the Professor. “ That a 
poor benighted nigger should believe this trash is n’t surprising. 
That poets, like Willis and Mrs. Browning, should give in to it 
may be tolerated, for they are privileged. In them the imagi- 
native faculty is irregularly developed. But that sane and 

* Author of “ The Uprising of a Great People,” “ America before Eu- 
rope,” &c. ; also of two large volumes on Modern Spiritualism. 


PIN-HOLES IN THE CURTAIN. 


43 


intelligent white men like Edmonds, and Tallmadge, and Bow- 
ditch, and Brownson, and Bishop Clark of Rhode Island, and 
Howitt, and Chambers, and Coleman, and Dr. Gray, and Wil- 
kinson, and Mountford, and Robert Dale Owen, should grave- 
ly swallow these idiotic stories, is lamentable indeed. The 
spectacle becomes humiliating, and I sigh, ‘ Poor human na- 
ture ! ’ ” 

“ But Peek is far from being a benighted nigger,” replied 
Barnwell ; “ he can read and write as well as you can ; he 
is the best shot in the county ; he is a good mechanic ; for a 
time he waited on one of the great jugglers at the St. Charles ; 
he can explain or cleverly imitate all the tricks of all the con- 
jurers ; he is not a man to be humbugged, especially by a poor 
sick girl in a hut with no cellar, no apparatus, no rooms where 
any coadjutor could hide. It has been the greatest puzzle of 
my life to know how to explain Peek’s stories.” 

“ Half that is extraordinary in them,” said the Professor, “ i3 
probably a lie, and the other half is delusion. Not one man in 
fifty is competent to test such occurrences. Men’s senses have 
not been scientifically trained; their love of the marvellous 
blinds them to the simplest solutions of a mystery. How to 
observe is one of the most difficult of arts ; and one must un- 
dergo rigid scientific culture in the practical branches before he 
can observe properly.” 

“ Under your theory, Professor, ninety-eight men out of 
every hundred ought to be excluded as witnesses from our 
courts of justice. It strikes me that a fellow like Peek — 
with his senses always in good working trim, who never misses 
his aim, who can hit a mark by moonlight at forty paces, and 
shoot a bird on the wing in bright noonday, who can detect a 
tread or a flutter of wings when to your ear all is silence — is 
as competent to see straight and judge of sights and sounds as 
any blinkard from a college, even though he wear spectacles 
and call himself professor of mathematics. Remember, Peek 
is not a superstitious nigger. He will feel personally obliged 
to any ghost who will show himself. He shrinks from no 
haunted room, no solitude, no darkness.” 

“ Truly, Horace, you speak as if you half believed these 
absurdities.” 


44 


PECULIAR. 


“ No, — I wish I could. Peek once said to me, that he 
wouldn’t have believed these things on my testimony, and 
couldn’t expect me to believe them on his.” 

“ Our business,” said the Professor, “ is with the life before 
us. I agree with Comte, that we ought to confine ourselves 
to positive, demonstrable facts ; with Humboldt, that ‘ there is 
not much to boast of after our dissolution,’ and that ‘ the blue 
regions on the other side of the grave ’ * are probably a poet’s 
dream. Let us not trouble ourselves about the inexplicable or 
the uncertain.” 

“ But you do not consider, Professor, that Peek’s facts are 
positive to his experience. Besides, to say, with Comte, that 
a fact is inexplicable, and that we can’t go beyond it, is not to 
demonstrate that the fact has its cause in itself ; it is merely to 
confess the mystery of a cause unknown.” f 
. “Well, Horace, I’m sleepy, and must retire. I’ll find an 
opportunity to cross-examine Peek before I go, and you shall 
see how he will contradict and stultify himself.” 

Before the opportunity was found, the Professor had passed 
on. Less modest than Rabelais was in his last moments, he 
did not condescend to say, “ I go to inquire into a great possi- 
bility.” The physician in attendance, who was a young man, 
and had recently “ experienced religion,” asked the Professor 
if he had found the Lord Jesus. To which the Professor, 
making a wry face, replied, “Jargon!” “Have you no regard 
for your soul ? ” asked the well-meaning doctor. “ Can you 
prove to me, young man, that I have a soul ? ” returned the 
Professor, trying to raise himself on his pillow, in an argu- 
mentative posture. “ Don’t you believe in a future state ? ” 
asked the doctor. “ I believe what can be proved,” said the 
Professor ; “ and there are two things, and only two, that can be 
proved, — though Berkeley thinks we can’t prove even those, 
— matter and motion. | All phenomena are reducible to matter 
and motion, — matter and motion, — matter and mo-o-o — ” 

* See Alexander Humboldt’s Letters to Vamhagen. 

t See Edouard Laboulaye, “ De la Personnalitd Divine.” 

t Tertullian, a devout Christian, when he wrote the following, would seem 
to have believed there could be no spirit independent of substance and 
form: “Nihil enim, si non corpus. Omne quod est, corpus estsui generis; 


PIN-HOLES IN THE CURTAIN. 


45 


The effort was too much for the moribund Professor. He 
did not complete the utterance of his formula, at least on this 
side of the great curtain. Probably when he awoke in the 
next life, conscious of his identity, lie felt very much in the 
mood of that other man of science, who, on being told that the 
microscope would confute an elaborate theory he had raised, 
refused to look through the impertinent instrument. 

For several months Peek retained his place under Braxton. 
But even overseers, whip in hand, cannot frighten off Death. 
Braxton disappeared through the common portal. His suc- 
cessor, Hawks, had a theory that the true mode of managing 
niggers was to overawe them by extreme severity at the start, 
and then taper off into clemency. He had been lord of the lash 
a week or two, when he was asked by Mr. Barnwell how he 
got along with Peek. 

“ Capitally 1 ” replied Hawks. “ I took care to put him 
through his paces at our first meeting, — took the starch right * 
out of him. He ’d score his own mother now if I told him to. 
He ’s a thorough nigger — is Peek. A nigger must fear a 
white man before he can like him. Peek would go through 
fire and water for me now. He has behaved so well, I have 
given him a pass to visit his sister at Carter’s.’ , 

“ I never knew before that Peek had a sister,” said Barn- 
well. 

Peek did not come back from that visit. 

nihil est incorporate, nisi quod non est. Quis enim negabit Deum corpus 
esse, etsi Deus spiritus est? Spiritus enim corpus sui generis, sua effigie;” 
— “ For there is nothing, if not body. All that is, is body after its kind; 
nothing is incorporeal except what is not. For who will deny God to be 
body, albeit God is spirit ? For spirit is body of its proper kind, in its proper 
effigy.” These views are not inconsistent with those entertained by many 
modem Spiritualists. 


46 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER VII 


AN UNCONSCIOUS HEIRESS. 


“ She is coming, my dove, my dear ; 
She is coming, my life, my fate ; 


The red rose cries, ‘ She is near, she is near’ ; 
And the white rose weeps, ‘ She is late ’ 5 


The larkspur listens, ‘ I hear, I hear ’ 5 
And the lily whispers, ‘ I wait.’ ” 


Tennyson. 


E left Peek (known in New York as Jacobs) in the 



YY little closet opening from the apartment where Charl- 
ton sat at his papers. The knock at the outer door was 
0 succeeded by the entrance, of a person of rather imposing 
presence. 

Mr. Albert Pompilard stood upwards of six feet in his pol- 
ished shoes and variegated silk stockings. He was bulky, and 
could not conceal, by any art of dress, an incipient paunch. 
But whether he was a youth of twenty-five or a man of fifty it 
was very difficult to judge on a hasty inspection. He was in 
reality sixty-nine. He affected an extravagantly juvenile and 
jaunty style of dress, and was never twenty-four hours behind 
the extreme fashions of Young America. 

On this occasion Mr. Pompilard was dressed in a light-col- 
ored sack or pea-jacket, with gaping pockets and enormous 
buttons, the cloth being a sort of shaggy, woollen stuff, coarse 
enough for a mat. His pantaloons and vest were of the same 
astounding fabric. He wore a new black hat, just ironed and 
brushed by Leary ; a neckerchief of a striped red-and-black 
silk, loosely tied ; immaculate linen ; and a diamond on his 
little finger. A thick gold chain passed round his neck, and 
entered his vest pocket. He swung a gold-headed switch, and 
was followed by a little terrier dog of a breed new to Broad- 
way. 

Mr. Pompilard’s complexion was somewhat florid, and pre- 
sented few marks of age. He wore his own teeth, which were 


AN UNCONSCIOUS HEIRESS. 


47 


still sound and white, and his own hair, including whiskers, 
although the hue was rather too black to be natural. 

“I believe I have the honor of addressing Mr. Charlton,” 
said Pompilard, with the air of one who is graciously bestow- 
ing a condescension. 

“ That ’s my name, sir. What ’s your business ? ” replied 
Charlton, in the curt, dry manner of one who gives his infor- 
mation grudgingly. 

“ My name, sir, is Pompilard. You may not be aware that 
there is a sort of family connection between us.” 

“ Ah ! yes 1 I remember,” said Charlton, looking inquiringly 
at his visitor, but not asking him to sit down. 

Pompilard returned his gaze, as if waiting for something ; 
then, seeing that nothing came, he lifted a chair, replaced it 
with emphasis on the floor, and sat down. If it was a rebuke, 
Charlton did not take it, though the terrier seemed to compre- 
hend it fully, for he began to bark, and made a reconnoissance 
of Charlton’s legs that plainly meant mischief. 

Pompilard refreshed himself for a moment with the lawyer’s 
alarm, then ordered Grip to lie down under the table, which he 
did with a quavering whine of expostulation. 

“ I see,” said Pompilard, “ you almost forget the precise 
nature of the connection to which I allude. Let me explain : 
the lady who has the honor to be your wife is the step-mother, 
I believe, of Mr. Henry Berwick.” 

“ Both the step-mother and aunt,” interposed Charlton, some- 
what mollified by the language of his visitor. 

“ Yes, she was half-sister to his own mother,” resumed Pom- 
pilard. “ Well, the wife of Mr. Henry Berwick was Miss 
Aylesford of Chicago, and is the niece of my present wife.” 

“I understand all that,” said Charlton; and then, as the 
thought occurred to him that he might make the connection 
useful,, he rose, and, offering his hand, said, “ I am happy to 
make your acquaintance, Mr. Pompilard.” That gentleman 
rose and exchanged salutations ; and Grip, under the table, 
gave a smothered howl, subsiding into a whine, as if he felt 
personally aggrieved by the concession, and would like to put 
his teeth in the calf of a certain leg. 

“ My object in calling,” said Pompilard, “ is merely to inquire 


48 


PECULIAR. 


if you can give me the present address of Mrs. Henry Berwick. 
My wife wishes to communicate with her.” 

Charlton generally either evaded a direct question or an- 
swered it by a lie. He never received a request for informa- 
tion, even in regard to the time of day, that he did not cast 
about in his mind to see how he could gain by the withholding 
or profit by the giving. He took it for granted that every 
man was trying to get the advantage of him ; and he resolved 
to take the initiative in that game. And so, to Pompilard’s 
inquiry, Charlton replied : 

“ I really cannot say whether Mr. Berwick is in the country 
or not. The last I heard of him he was in Paris.” 

“ Then your intelligence of him is not so late as mine. He 
arrived in Boston some days since, buj left immediately for the 
West by the way of Albany. I thought your wife might be in 
communication with him.” 

“ They seldom correspond.” 

“ I must inquire about him at the Union Club,” said Pompi- 
lard, musingly. “ By the way, Mr. Charlton, you deal in real 
estate securities, do you not?” 

“ Occasionally. There are some old-fashioned persons who 
consult me in regard to investments.” 

“ Do you want any good mortgages ? ” asked Pompilard. 

“ Just at present, money is very scarce and high,” replied 
Charlton. 

“ That ’s the very reason why I want it,” said his visitoi . 
“ Could you negotiate a thirty thousand dollar mortgage 
for me ? ” 

“But that’s a very large sum.” 

“ Another reason why I want it,” returned Pompilard. 
“ Supposing the security were satisfactory, what bonus should 
you require for getting me the money ? Please give me 
your lowest terms, and at once, for I have an engagement in 
five minutes on ’Change.” 

“ Well, sir,” said Charlton, in the tone of a man to whom it 
is an ordinary act to drive the knife in deep, “ I think in these 
times five per cent would be about right.” 

“ Pooh ! I ’ll bid you good morning, Mr. Charlton,” said Pom 
pilard, with an air of unspeakable contempt. “ Come, Grip.” 


AN UNCONSCIOUS HEIRESS. 


49 


And Mr. Pompilard bowed and turned to leave, just as 
another knock was heard at the door. He opened it, encoun- 
tering four men, one of whom kicked the unoffending terrier ; an 
indignity which Pompilard resented by switching the aggressor 
smartly twice round the legs, and then passed on. He had not 
descended five steps when a bullet from a pistol grazed his 
whiskers. “Not a bad shot that, my Southern friend ! ” said 
the old man, deliberately continuing his descent. 

Before losing sight of Pompilard we must explain why he 
was desirous that his wife should communicate with Mrs. 
Berwick. 

Inheriting a fortune from his mother, Albert Pompilard had 
managed to squander it in princely expenditures before he was 
twenty-five years old. The vulgar dissipations of sensualists 
he despised. He abstained from wine and strong drink at a 
time when to abstain was to be laughed at. With the costliest 
viands and liquors on his table for guests, he himself ate spar- 
ingly and drank cold water. Had he been as scrupulously 
moral in the management of his soul as he was of his body, he 
would have been a saint. But he was a spendthrift and a 
gambler on a large scale. 

Having ruined himself financially, he married. A little 
money which his wife brought him was staked entire on a stock 
operation, and won. Thence a new fortune larger than the first. 
At thirty-five he was worth half a million. He took his wife, 
two daughters, and a son to Paris, gave entertainments that 
made even royalty envious, and in ten years returned to New 
York a bankrupt. His wife died, and Pompilard appeared 
once more at the stock board. Ill-luck now pursued him with 
remorseless pertinacity, but never succeeded in disturbing his 
equanimity. He was frightfully in debt, but the consideration 
never for a moment marred his digestion nor his slumbers. 
The complacency of a man contented with himself and the 
world shed its beams over his features always. 

At fifty, a widower, with three children, he carried off and 
married Miss Aylesford, who at the time was on a visit to New 
York, — a girl of eighteen, handsome, accomplished, and worth 
half a million. In vain had her brother tried to open her eyes 
to Pompilard *s character as an inveterate fortune-hunter and 
s d 


50 


PECULIAK. 


spendthrift. The wilful young lady would have her way 
Pompilard took possession, paid his debts with interest, and, 
with less than one third of his wife ’s property left, once more 
tried his fortune in Wall Street. This time he won. At sixty 
he was richer than ever. He became the owner of a domain 
of three hundred acres on the Hudson, — built palatial residen- 
ces, — one in the country, and one on the favored avenue that 
leads to Murray Hill, — bought a steamboat to transport his 
guests to and from the city, — gave a series of fetes, and kept 
open houses. 

But soon one of those panics in the money-market which 
take place periodically to baffle the calculations and paralyze 
the efforts of large holders of stocks, occurred to confound 
Pompilard. In trying to hold his stocks, he was compelled 
to make heavy sacrifices, and then, in trying to hedge , he 
heaped loss on loss. He had to sell his acres on the Hud- 
son, — then his town house, — finally his horses ; and at sixty- 
nine we find him trying to get a mortgage for thirty thousand 
dollars on five or six poor little houses, the last remnant from 
the wreck of his wife ’s property. In the hope of effecting this 
he had persuaded his wife to communicate with her niece, Mrs. 
Berwick. 

The brother of Mrs. Pompilard, Robert Aylesford, had in- 
herited a large estate, which he had increased by judicious in- 
vestments in land on the site of Chicago, some years before 
that wonderful city had risen like an exhalation in a night 
from the marsh on which it stands. His wife had died in 
child-birth, leaving a daughter whom he named after her, Leo- 
nora. His own health was subsequently impaired by a ma- 
lignant fever, caught in humane attendance on a Mr. Carteret, 
a stranger whom he had accidentally met at Cairo in Southern 
Illinois. 

Deeply chagrined at his sister’s imprudent marriage, and feel- 
ing that his own health was failing, Aylesford conceived a 
somewhat romantic project in regard to his only child, Leonora. 
During a winter he had passed in Italy he had become ac- 
quainted with the Ridgways, a refined and intelligent family 
from Western Massachusetts. One of the members, a lady, 
kept a boarding-school of deserved celebrity in the town of 
Lenbridge. 


AN UNCONSCIOUS HEIRESS. 


51 


To this lady Aylesford took his little girl, then only two 
years old, and said : “ I wish you to bring her up under the 
name of Leonora Lockhart, her mother’s maiden name, and 
her own, though not all of it. When she is married, let her 
know that the rest of it is Aylesford. She is so young she will 
not remember much of her father. Keep both her and the 
world in ignorance of the fact that she is born to a fortune. My 
wish is that she shall not be the victim of a fortune-hunter in 
marriage ; and you will take all needful steps to carry out my 
wish. I leave you the address of my man of business, Mr. 
Keep, in New York, who will supply you with a thousand dol- 
lars a year as your compensation for supporting and educating 
her. Neither she nor any one else must know that even this 
allotment is on her account. My physician orders me to pass 
the winter in Cuba, and I may not return. Should that be my 
lot, I look to you to be in the place of a parent to my child. 
Her relations may suppose her dead. I shall not undeceive 
them. Her nearest relative is her aunt, my sister, Mrs. Pom- 
pilard, who, in the event of my death, will be legally satisfied 
that such a disposition is made of my property that it cannot 
directly or indirectly fall into the hands of that irreclaimable 
spendthrift, her husband. As I have lived for the last twenty 
years at the West, I do not think you will have any difficulty in 
keeping my secret.” 

Subsequently he said : “ On the day of Leonora’s marriage, 
should she have passed her eighteenth year, the trustees of my 
property will have directions to hand over to her the income. 
Till that it is done, your lips must be sealed in regard to her 
prospects. In the event of her remaining single, I have made 
provisions which Mr. Keep will explain to you. I am resolved 
that my daughter shall not have to buy a husband.” 
j Mrs. Ridgway accepted the trust in the same frank spirit in 
which it was offered. Mr. Aylesford took leave of his little 
girl, and before the next spring she was fatherless. Her eigh- 
teenth birthday found her developed into a young lady of sin- 
gular grace and beauty, with accomplishments which showed 
that the body had not been neglected in adorning the mind. 
But the mystery that surrounded her family and origin pro- 
duced a shyness that kept her aloof from social intimacies* 


52 


PECULIAR. 


Vainly did her attentive friends try to overcome her fondness 
for solitary musings and rides. She was possessed with the 
idea that she was an illegitimate child, though to this suspicion 
she never gave utterance till candor seemed to compel it. 

On a charming morning in June, as a young man, just 
escaped from a law-office in New York for a week’s recreation 
among the hills of Lenbridge, was entering “the cathedral 
road,” as it was called, overarched as it was by forest-trees, 
and spread with an elastic mat of pine-leaves, he saw a young 
lady riding a spirited horse, a bright-colored bay, exquisitely 
formed, and showing high blood in every step. The sagacious 
creature evidently felt the exhilaration of the fresh, balsamic 
air, for he played the most amusing antics, dancing and curvet- 
ting as if for the entertainment of a circus of spectators ; start- 
ing lightly and feigning fright at little shining puddles of water, 
leaping over fallen stumps, but with such elastic ease and pre- 
cision as not to stir his rider in her seat, — and frolicking much 
like a pet kitten when the ball of yarn is on the floor. 

His mistress evidently understood his ways, and he hers, for 
she talked to him and patted his glossy neck and seemed to 
encourage him in his tricks. At last she said, “ Come, now, 
Hamlet, enough of this, — behave yourself!” and then he 
walked on quite demurely. He traversed a cross-road newly 
repaired with broken stones, and entered on the forest avenue. 
But all at once Hamlet seemed to go lame, and the lady dis- 
mounted, and, lifting one of his fore-feet, tried to extract a 
stone that had got locked in the hollow of his sole. Her 
strength was unequal to the task. The pedestrian who had 
been watching her movements approached, bowed, and offered 
his assistance. The lady thanked him, and resigned into his 
hand the hoof of the gentle animal, who plainly understood that 
something for his benefit was going on. 

“ The stone is wedged in so tightly, I fear it will require a 
chisel to pry it out,” said the new acquaintance, whose name 
was Henry Berwick. Then, after a pause, he added, “ But 
perhaps I can hammer it out with another stone.” 

“ Let me find one for you,” said Leonora, running here and 
there, and searching as she held up her riding-habit. 

Henry looked after her with an interest he had never felt 


AN UNCONSCIOUS HEIRESS. 


53 


before for any one in the form of a young lady. How bewitch- 
mgly that black beaver with its ostrich plumes sat on her head, 
but failed to hide those luxuriant curls, — luxuriant by the 
grace of nature and not of the hair-dresser ! And then that 
face, — how full of life and tenderness and mind ! And how 
admirably did its red and white contrast with the surrounding 
blackness of its frame ! And that figure, — how were its har- 
monious perfections brought out by the simple, closely fitting 
nankeen riding-habit trimmed with green! 

While she was engaged in her search, Mr. Henry Berwick 
dishonestly did his best to loosen the shoe. All at once, in the 
most innocent manner, he exclaimed, “ This shoe is loose, — it 
has come off, — look here ! ” 

And he held it up, just as Leonora handed him a stone. 

He took the stone, and with one blow knocked out the frag- 
ment that lay wedged in the hollow of the sole. 

“ Thank you, sir,” said Leonora. 

“ You are one of Mrs. Ridgway’s young ladies, I presume,” 
said Henry. 

“ Yes, I shall not be back in time for my music-lesson, if I 
do not hurry.” 

“ There is a blacksmith not a quarter of a mile from here. 
My advice to you is to stop and have this shoe refitted. Re- 
member, you have a mile of a newly macadamized road to 
travel before you get home, and over that you will have to 
walk your horse slowly unless you restore him his shoe.” 

Leonora seemed struck by these considerations. “ I will take 
your advice,” she said, putting herself in the saddle with a 
movement so quick and easy that Berwick could not interpose 
to help her. But the horse limped so badly that she once more 
dismounted. 

“ Let me lead him for you,” said Berwick, “ I shall not have 
to go a step out of my way.” 

“You are very obliging,” replied the lady. 

And the young man led the horse, while the young lady 
walked by his side. 

The quarter of a mile was a remarkably long one. It was a 
full hour before the blacksmith’s shed was reached, and then 
Berwick, secretly giving the man of the anvil a dollar, winked 


04 


PECULIAR. 


at him, and said aloud, “ Call us as soon as you have fitted the 
shoe ” ; and then added, in an aside , “ Be an hour or so about it.” 

The new acquaintances strolled together to a beautiful pond 
within sight among the hills. 

O that exquisite June morning, with its fresh foliage, its 
clear sky, its pine odors, its wild-flowers, and its songs of birds ! 
How imperishable in the memories of both it became ! How 
much happier were they ever afterwards for the happiness of 
that swift-gliding moment ! 

Leonora spied some harebells in the crevices of the slaty 
rocks of a steep declivity, and pointed them out as the first of 
the season. 

“I must get them for you,” cried Berwick. 

“ No, no ! It is a dangerous place,” said Leonora. 

“ They shall be your harebells,” said Berwick, swinging him- 
self, by the aid of a birch-tree that grew almost horizontally 
out of the cleft of a rock, over the precipice, and snatching the 
flowers. Leonora treasured them for years, pressed between 
the leaves of Shelley’s Poems. 

Thus began a courtship which, three weeks afterwards, was 
followed by an offer of marriage. Early in the acquaintance, 
foreseeing the drift of Berwick’s eager attentions, Leonora had 
frankly communicated by letter her suspicions in regard to her 
own birth. 

In his reply Berwick had written : “ I almost wish it may 
be as you imagine, in order that I may the better prove to you 
the strength of my attachment ; for I do not underrate the de- 
sirableness of an honorable genealogy. No one can prize more 
than I an unspotted lineage. But I would not marry the wo- 
man who I did not tliink could in herself compensate me for 
the absence of all advantages of family position and wealth ; 
and whose society could not more than make up for the loss of 
all social attractions that could be offered outside of the home 
her presence would sanctify. You are the one my heart points 
to as able to do all this ; and so, Leonora, whether it be the bar 
sinister or the ducal coronet that ought to be in your coat of 
arms, it matters not to me. No herald’s pen can make you 
less charming in my eyes. Under any cloud that could be 
thrown over your origin, to me you would always be, as Portia 
was to Brutus, a fair and honorable wife ; — 


AN UNCONSCIOUS HEIRESS. 


55 


4 As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
That visit this sad heart.’ 

And yet not sad, if you were mine ! So do not think that 
any future development in regard to the antecedents of your- 
self or of your parents can detract from an affection based on 
those qualities which are of the soul and heart, and the worth 
of which no mortal disaster can impair.” 

To all which the imprudent young lady returned this an- 
swer : 44 Do not think to outdo me in generosity. You judge 
me independently of all social considerations and advantages ; 
I will do the same by you ; for I know as little of you as you 
do of me.” 

They met the next morning, and Berwick said : 44 Is not this 
a very dangerous precedent we are setting for romantic young 
people ? What if* I should turn out to be a swindler or a 
bigamist ? ” 

44 My heart would have prescience of it much sooner than 
my head,” replied Leonora. 44 Women are not so often misled 
into uncongenial alliances by their affections as by their passions 
or their calculations. The lamb, before he has ever known a 
wolf, is instinctively aware of an enemy’s presence, even while 
the wolf is yet unseen. If the lamb stopped to reason with 
himself, he would be very apt to say, 4 Nonsense ! it is no doubt 
a very .respectable beast who is approaching. Why should I 
imagine he wants to harm me?’” 

“ But what if I am a wolf disguised as a lamb ? ” asked 
Berwick. 

44 1 am so good a judge of tune,” replied Leonora, 44 that I 
should detect the sham the moment you tried to cry baa. Nay, 
a repugnant nature makes itself felt to me by its very presence. 
There are some persons the ver^ touch of whose hand pro- 
duces an impression, I generally find to be true, of their 
character.” 

44 An ingenious plea ! ” said Berwick with an affectation of 
sarcasm. 44 But it does not palliate your indiscretion.” 

44 Very well, sir,” replied Leonora, 44 since you disapprove 
my precipitancy, we will — ” 

Berwick interrupted the speech at the very portal of her 
mouth, by surprising its warders, the lips. 


56 


PECULIAR. 


And so it was a betrothal. 

How admirably had Mrs. Ridgway behaved through it all ! 
How scrupulous she had been in withholding all intimations 
of Leonora’s prospective wealth! There were young men 
among the Ridgways, handsome, accomplished, just entering 
the hard paths of commercial or professional toil. How easy it 
would have been to have hinted to some of them, “ Secure this 
young lady, and your fortune is made. Let a hint suffice.” 
But Mrs. Ridgway was too loyal to her trust to even blindly 
convey by her demeanor towards Leonora a suspicion that the 
child was aught more than the dowerless orphan she appeared. 

Berwick took a small house in Brooklyn, and prepared for 
his marriage. Clients were as yet few and poor, but he did 
not shrink from living on twelve hundred a year with the 
woman he loved. He was not quite sure that his betrothed 
was even rich enough to refurnish her own wardrobe. So he 
delicately broached the question to Mrs. Ridgway. That lady 
mischievously told him that if he could let Leonora have fifty 
dollars, it might be convenient. The next day Berwick sent a 
check for ten times that amount. 

But after the wedding, an elderly gentleman, named Keep, 
to whom Berwick had been introduced a few days before, took 
him and the bride aside, and delivered to him a schedule of 
the title-deeds of an estate worth a million, the bequest of the 
bride’s father, and the income of which was to be subject to 
her order. 

“ But this deranges all our little plans ! ” exclaimed the bride, 
with delightful naivete . 

“ Well, my children, you must put up with it as well as you 
can,” said Mr. Keep. 

Berwick took the surprise gravely and thoughtfully. With 
this great enlargement of his means and opportunities, were 
not his responsibilities proportionably increased? 


A DESCENDANT OF THE CAVALIERS. 


57 


CHAPTER Y 1 1 1 


A DESCENDANT OF THE CAVALIERS. 


“ Pride of race, pride in an ancestry of gentlemen, pride in all those habitudes and in- 
stincts which separated us so immeasurably from the peddling and swindling Yankee 
nation, — all this pride has been openly cherished and avowed in all simplicity and good 
faith.” — Richmond ( Va .) Enquirer. 



(EEK sat in the little closet which opened into Charlton’s 


1 office. Suddenly he heard the crack of a pistol, followed^ 
by a volley of ferocious oaths. Efforts seemed to be made to 
pacify the utterer, who was with difficulty withheld by his com- 
panions from following the person who had offended him. At 
these sounds Peek felt a cold, creeping sensation down his 
back, and a tightness in his throat, as if it were grasped by a 
hand. The pistol-shot and the nature of the oaths brought 
before him the figure of the overseer with his broad-brimmed 
hat, his whip, and his revolver. 

All the negro’s senses were now concentrated in the one 
faculty of hearing. He judged that five persons had entered 
the room. The angry man had cooled down, and the voices 
were not raised above a whisper. 

“ Is he here ? ” asked one. 

No answer was heard in reply. Probably a gesture had 
sufficed. 

“ Will he resist ? ” 

“ Possibly. These fugitives usually go armed.” 

“ What shall we do if he threatens to fire ? ” 

Here an altercation ensued, during which Peek could under- 
stand little of what was uttered. But he had heard enough. 
His thoughts first reverted to his wife and his infant boy, and 
he pictured to himself their destitute condition in the event of 
his being taken away. Then the treachery of Charlton glared 
upon him in all its deformity, and he instinctively drew from 
the sheath in an inside pocket of his vest a sharp, glittering 
dagger-like knife. He looked rapidly around, but there was 


58 


PECULIAR. 


nothing to suggest a mode of escape. The only window in the 
closet was one over the door communicating with the office. 

Suddenly it occurred to him that, if he were to be hemmed 
in in this closet, his chances of escape would be small. It 
would be better for him to be in the larger room, whether he 
chose to adopt a defensive or an offensive policy. Seeing an 
old rope in a corner of the closet, he seized it with the avidity 
a drowning man might show in grasping at a straw. 

He listened intently once more to the whisperers. A low 
susurration, accompanied with a whistling sound, he identi- 
fied at once as coming from Skinner, the captain of the schooner 
in which he had made his escape. Then some one sneezed. 
Peek would have recognized that sneeze in Abyssinia. It must 
have proceeded from Colonel Delaney Hyde. 

Standing on tiptoe on a coal-box, the negro now looked 
through a hole in the green-paper curtain covering the glass 
over the door, and surveyed the whole party. He found he 
was right in his conjectures. The captain was there with one 
of his sailors, — an old inebriate by the name of Biggs, both 
doubtless ready to swear to the slave’s identity. And the 
Colonel was there as natural as when he appeared on the plan- 
tation, strolling round to take a look at the “ smart niggers,” 
so as to be able to recognize them in case of need. Two police- 
men, armed with bludgeons, and probably with revolvers ; and 
Charlton, with a paper tied with red tape in his hand, formed 
the other half of this agreeable company. Peek marked well 
their positions, put his knife between his teeth, and descended 
from the box. 

Colonel Delaney Hyde is a personage of too much impor- 
tance to be kept waiting while we describe the movements of 
a slave. Colonel Delaney Hyde must be attended to first. 
Tall, lank, and gaunt in figure, round-shouldered and stooping, 
he carried his head very much after the fashion of a blood- 
hound on the scent. Beard and moustache of a reddish, sandy 
hue, coarse and wiry, concealed much of the lower part of a 
face which would have been pale but for the floridity which 
bad whiskey had imparted. The features were rather leonine 
than wolfish in outline (if we may believe Mr. Livingstone, the 
lion is a less respectable beast than the wolf). But the small 


A DESCENDANT OF THE CAVALIERS. 


59 


brownish eyes, generally half closed and obliquely glancing, had 
a haughty expression of penetration or of scorn, as if the per- 
son on whom they fell would be too much honored by a full, 
entire regard from those sublime orbs. 

The Colonel wore a loosely fitting frock-coat and pantaloons, 
evidently bought ready made. They were of a grayish non- 
descript material which he used to boast was manufactured in 
Georgia. He generally carried his hands in his pockets, and 
bestowed his tobacco-juice impartially on all sides with the 
abandon of a free and independent citizen who has not been 
used to carpets. 

There were two things of which Colonel Delaney Hyde was 
proud : one, his name, the other, his Virginia birth. It is 
interesting to trace back the genealogy of heroes ; and we have 
it in our power to do this justice to the Colonel. 

In the year 1618 there resided in London a stable-keeper 
of doubtful reputation, and connected with gentlemen of the 
turf who frequented Hyde Park and Newmarket in the early 
days of that important British institution, the horse-race. This 
man’s name was Hyde. He had a patron in Sir Arthur De- 
laney, a dissipated nobleman, whom he admired, naming after 
him a son who was early initiated in all the mysteries of jock- 
eyship and gambling. 

Unfortunately for the youth, he did not have the wit to keep 
out of the clutches of the law. Twice he was arrested and 
imprisoned for swindling. A third offence of a graver char- 
acter, consisting in the theft of a pocket-book containing thir- 
teen shillings, led to his arraignment for grand larceny, a 
crime then punishable with death. The gallows began to 
loom in the not remote distance with a sharpness of outline 
not pictorially pleasant to the ambition of the Hyde family. 

About that time the “ London Company,” whose colony in 
Virginia was in a languishing condition, petitioned the Crown 
to make them a present of “ vagabonds and condemned men ” 
to be sent out to enforced labor. The senior Hyde applied to 
Sir Arthur Delaney to save his namesake ; and that nobleman 
laid the case before his friend, Sir Edward Sandys, treasurer of 
the company aforesaid. By their joint influence the Hydes 
were spared the disgrace of seeing their eldest hung ; and King 


60 


PECULIAR. 


James having graciously granted the London Company’s peti- 
tion for a consignment of M vagabonds and condemned men,” a 
hundred were sent out (a mere fraction of the numbers of sim- 
ilar gentry who had preceded them), and of this precious lot 
the younger Hyde made one.* Just a year afterwards, namely, 
in 1620, a Dutch trading-vessel anchored in James River with 
twenty negroes, and this was the beginning of African slavery 
in North America. 

Neither threats nor lashes could induce young Mr. Hyde, 
tliis “ founder of one of the first families,” to work. Soon after 
his arrival on the banks of the Chickahominy he stole a gun, 
and thenceforth got a precarious living by shooting, fishing, and 
pilfering. He took to himself a female partner, and faithfully 
transmitted to his descendants the traits by which he was dis- 
tinguished. 

Not one of them, except now and then a female of the stock, 
was ever known to get an honest living ; and even if the poor 
creatures had desired to do so, the state of society where their 
lot was cast was such as to deter them from learning any me- 
chanical craft or working methodically at any manual employ- 
ment. 

Slavery had thrown its ban and its slime over white labor, 
branding it with disrepute. To get bread, not by the sweat of 
your own brow, but by somebody else’s sweat, became the one 
test of manhood and high spirit. To be a gentleman, you must 
begin with robbery. 

The Hydes were hardly an educated race. There was a tra- 
dition in the family that one of them had been to school, but if 
he had, the fruits of culture did not appear. They seemed to 
have shared the benediction of Sir William Berkeley, once 
Governor of Virginia, who wrote : “I thank God there are no 
free schools nor printing, and I hope we shall not have them 
these hundred years.” 

It is true that our Colonel Delaney Hyde could read and write, 
although indifferently. The labor of acquiring this ability had 

* In* a work published in London by De Foe, in 1722, one of his characters 
speaks of the Virginia immigration as being composed either of “ first, such 
as were brought over by masters of ships, to be 6old as servants; or, second, 
such as are transported, after having been found guilty of crimes punishable 
with death.” 


A DESCENDANT OF THE CAVALIERS. 


61 


been enormous and repugnant ; but before bis eighteenth year 
he had achieved it ; and thenceforth he was a prodigy in the 
eyes of the rest of his kin. He got his title of Colonel from 
once receiving a letter so addressed from Senator Mason, who 
had employed him to buy a horse. Among the Colonel’s ac- 
quaintances who could read, this brevet was considered author- 
itative and sufficient. 

Not being of a thrifty and forehanded habit, the Colonel’s 
father never rose to the possession of more than three slaves at 
a time ; but he made up for his deficiency in this respect by 
beating these three all the more frequently. They were a mis- 
erable set, and, to tell the truth, deserved many of the whip- 
pings they got. The owner was out of pocket by them, year 
after year, but was too shiftless a manager to provide against 
the loss, and was too proud to get rid of the encumbrances alto- 
gether. He and his children and his neighbors were kept poor, 
squalid, and degraded by a system that in effect made them the 
serfs of a few rich proprietors, who, by discrediting white labor, 
were able to buy up at a trifling cost the available lands, and 
then impoverish them by the exhausting crops wrung from the 
generous soil by large gangs of slaves under the rule of supe 
rior capital and intelligence. 

And yet no lord of a thousand “ niggers” could be a more 
bigoted upholder than the Hydes of “our institutions, sir.” 
(Living by jugglery, Slavery usually speaks of the institution as 
our institutions.) They would foam at the mouth in speaking 
of those men of the North who dared to question the divinity 
and immutability of slavery. To deny its right to unlimited 
extension was the one kind of profanity not to be pardoned. 
It was worse than atheism to say that slavery was sectional 
and freedom national. 

To the Colonel’s not very clear geographical conceptions the 
white Americans south of Mason and Dixon’s line were, with 
hardly an exception, descendants of noblemen and gentlemen ; 
while all north were, to borrow the words of Mr. Jefferson 
Davis, either the “ scum of Europe ” or “ a people whose an- 
cestors Cromwell had gathered from the bogs and fens of 
Ireland and Scotland.” * 

• These passages are from a speech of President Davis at Jackson, Miss., 


62 


PECULIAR. 


Colonel Delaney Hyde revelled in those genealogical invec- 
tives of a similar tenor by a Richmond editor, whose fatuous 
and frantic iterations that the Yankees were the descendants 
of low-born peasants and blackguards, while the Southern 
Americans are the progeny of the English cavaliers, betrayed 
a ludicrous desire to strengthen his own feeble belief in the 
asseveration by loud and incessant clamor ; for he had faith 
in Sala’s witty saying, that, if a man has strong lungs, and will 
keep bawling day after day that he is a genius or a gentleman, 
the public will at last believe him. 

The Colonel never tired of denouncing the Puritans : — “A 
canting, hyppercritical set of cusses, sir ; but they had some 
little fight in ’em, though they could n’t stahnd up agin the 
caval'yers, — no sir-r-r ! — the caval'yers gev ’em particular 
hell ; but the Yankee spawn of these cusses, — they hev 
lost the little pluck the Puritans wonst had, and air cowards, 
every mother’s son on ’em. One high-tone Southern gemmle- 
man — one descendant of the caval'yers — can clare out any 
five on ’em in a fair fight.” 

December, 1862. When he gets in a passion, Mr. Davis repudiates the truth 
even as he would State debts. Notorious facts of history are set aside in his 
blind wrath. The colonists of New England, he well knows, were the friends 
and compatriots of Cromwell and his Parliament ; and the few prisoners of 
war Cromwell sent over from Ireland and England as slaves did not consti- 
tute an appreciable part of the then resident population of the North. It is a 
well-known fact, which no genealogist will dispute, that not Virginia, nor 
any other American State, can show such a purely English ancestry as 
Massachusetts. The writer of a paper in the New York Continental Monthly 
for July, 1863, under the title of “ The Cavalier Theory Refuted,” proves 
this statistically. “ Let it be avowed,” he says, u that Puritanic New Eng- 
land could always display a greater array of gentlemen by birth than Virginia, 
or even the entire South. This is said deliberately, because we know whereof 
we speak.” He gives figures and names. And yet even so judicious a 
"Writer as John Stuart Mill has fallen into the error of supposing that the 
South had the advantage of the* North in this respect. The anxious and 
persistent clamor of the Secessionists on this point, in the hope to enlist the 
sympathy of the British aristocracy, has not been wholly without effect. 
We would only remark, in conclusion, that Davis and his brethren, in their 
over-anxiety to prove that their ancestors were gentlemen, and ours clod- 
hoppers, show the genuine spirit of the upstart and the parvenu. The true 
gentleman is content to have his gentility appear in his acts. 

Mr. Clay of the Confederate Congress has introduced a resolution propos- 
ing that the coat of arms of the Slave Confederacy shall be the figure of a 
cavalier ! Would not a beggar on horseback, riding in a certain familiar 
direction, be more appropriate? 


A DESCENDANT OF THE CAVALIERS. 


63 


By a fair fight for a descendant of the cavaliers, the Colonel 
meant one of two things : either a six-barrelled revolver against 
an unarmed antagonist, or an ambush in which the aforesaid 
descendant could hit, but be secure against being hit in return. 
One of the Colonel’s maxims was, “ Never fire unless you' can 
take your man at a disadvantage.” 

His sire having been unluckily cast in a petty lawsuit, “ by 
a low-born Yankee judge, sir,” Colonel Delaney Hyde drifted 
off to the Southwest, and gradually emerged into the special 
vocation for which the unfortunate habits of life, which the 
Southern system had driven him to, seemed to qualify him. 
He became a sort of agent for the recovery of runaway slaves, 
and in this capacity had the freedom of the different planta- 
tions, and was frequently applied to for help by bereaved mas- 
ters. Every man is said to have his specialty: the Colonel 
had at last found his. 

In the survey which Peculiar took of the assemblage in 
Charlton’s office, he saw that Charlton himself was separated 
from the rest in being behind a small semicircular counter, 
an old piece of furniture, bought cheap at a street auction. By 
getting in the lawyer’s place the negro would have a sort of 
barrier, protecting him in front and on two sides against his 
assailants. Behind him would be the stove. 

Stealthily tin-owing open the closet-door he glided out, and 
before any one could intercept him, he had fastened Charlton’s 
arms in a noose, and was standing over him with upraised 
knife. So rapid, so sudden, so unexpected had been the move- 
ment, that it was all completed before even an exclamation was 
uttered. The first one to break the silence was Charlton, who 
in a paroxysm of terror cried out, “ Mercy ! Save me, officers ! 
save me ! ” 

Iverson, one of the policemen, started forward and drew a 
revolver ; but Peek made a shield of the body of the lawyer, 
who now found himself threatened with a pistol on one side 
and a knife on the other, much to his mortal dismay. 

“ Put down your pistol, Iverson ! ” he stammered. “ Don’t 
attempt to do anything, any of you. This g-g-gentleman 
does n’t mean to do any harm. He will listen to reason. The 
gentleman will listen to reason.” 


64 


PECULIAR. 


“ Gentleman be damned ! ” exclaimed Colonel Delaney 
Hyde. “ Officer, put down your pistol. This piece of prop- 
erty must n’t be damaged. I ’m responsible for it. Peek, you 
imperdent black cuss, drop that rib-tickler, — drop it right 
smart, or yer’ll ketch hell.” 

The Colonel advanced, and Peek brought down his knife so 
as to inflict on Charlton’s shoulder a gentle puncture, which 
drew from him a cry of pain, followed by the exclamation, in 
trembling tones : “ Keep off, keep off, Colonel ! Peek does n’t 
mean any harm.” 

Iverson made an attempt to get in the negro’s rear, but a 
shriek of remonstrance from Charlton drove the officer back. 

Finding now that he was master of the situation, Peek let 
his right arm fall gradually to his side, and, still holding Charl- 
ton in his grasp, said : “ Gentlemen, there are just five chairs 
before you. Be seated, and hear what I have to say.” 

The company looked hesitatingly at one another, till Blake, 
one of the policemen, said, “ Why not ? ” and took a seat. The 
rest followed his example. 

And then Peek, crowding back the rage and anguish of his 
heart, spoke as follows : “ My name is Peculiar Institution. I 
came to this lawyer some seven weeks ago for advice. I paid 
him money. He got me to tell him my story. He pretended 
to be my friend; but thinking he could make a few dollars 
more out of the slaveholder than he could out of me, he sends 
on word to the man who calls himself my master ; — in short, 
betrays me. You see I have him in my power. What would 
you do with him if you were in my place ? ” 

“ I ’d cut off his dirty ears ! ” exclaimed Blake, carried beyond 
all the discretion of a policeman by his indignation. 

“ What do you say, Colonel Hyde ? ” asked Peek. 

“ Wall, Peek, I don’t car’ what yer do ter him, providin’ yer* 
don’t damage yerself ; but I reckon yer ’d better drop that knife 
dam quick, and give in. It ’s no use tryin’ to git off. We ’ve 
three witnesses here to swar you ’re the right man. The Yan- 
kees put through the Fugitive Law right smart now. Yer 
stand no chance.” 

“ That ’s all true, Colonel,” replied Peek, speaking as if argu- 
ing aloud to himself. “ The law was executed in Boston last 


A DESCENDANT OF THE CAVALIERS. 


65 


week, where there was n’t half the proof you have. To do it 
they had to call out the whole police force, but they did it ; and 
if such things are done in Boston, we can’t expect much better 
in New York. But you see, Colonel, with this knife in my 
hand, I can now do one of two things : I can either kill this 
man, or kill myself. In either case you lose. The law hangs 
me if I kill him, and if I kill myself the sexton puts all of me 
he can lay hold of under the ground. Now, Colonel, if you 
refuse my terms, I’m fully resolved to do one of these two 
things, — probably the first, for I have scruples about the 
second.” 

“ The cussed nigger talks as ef he was readin’ from a book ! ” 
exclaimed Hyde, in astonishment. “ Wall, Peek, what tairms 
do yer mean?” 

• “You must promise that, on my letting this man go, you ’ll 
allow me to walk freely out of this room, and go where I please 
unattended, on condition that I ’ll return at five o’clock this 
afternoon and deliver myself up to you to go South with you 
of my own accord, without any trial or bother of any kind.” 

The Colonel gave a furtive wink at the policeman Iverson, 
and replied: “Wall, Peek, that’s no more nor fair, seein’ as 
you ’re sich a smart respectible nigger. But I reckon yer ’ll go 
and stir up the cussed abolitioners.” 

“ I ’ll promise,” returned Peek, “ not to tell any one what ’s 
going on.” 

Hyde whispered in Iverson’s ear, and the latter nodded 
assent. 

“ Wall, Peek,” said Colonel Hyde, “ if yer ’ll swar, so help 
yer Gawd, yer ’ll do as yer say, we ’ll let yer go.” 

“Please write down my words, sir,” said Peek, addressing 
Blake. 

The policeman took pen and paper, and wrote, after Peek’s 
dictation, as follows : — 

“ We the undersigned swear, on our part, so help us God, 
we will allow Peculiar Institution to quit this room free and 
unfollowed, on his promise that he will return and give himself 
up at five o’clock this P. M. And I, Peculiar Institution, 
swear, on my part, so help me God, I will, if these terms are 
carried out, fulfil the above-named promise.” 


66 


PECULIAR. 


“ Sign that, you five gentlemen, and then I ’ll sign,” said 
Peek. 

The five signed. The paper and pen were then handed to 
Peek, and he added his name in a good legible hand, and gave 
the paper to Blake. 

Having done this, he pulled the rope from Charlton’s arms, 
and threw it on the floor, then returned his knife to the sheath, 
and picked up his cap. 

But as he started for the door, Colonel Hyde drew his revol- 
ver, stood in his way, and said : “ Now, nigger, no more damn 
nonsense ! Did yer think Delaney Hyde was such a simple 
cuss as to trust yer ? Officers, seize this nigger.” 

“ Iverson stepped forward to obey, but Blake, with the as- 
sured gesture of one whose superiority has been felt and 
admitted, motioned him aside, and said to Hyde, “ I ’ll take 
your revolver.” 

The Colonel, either thrown off his guard by Blake’s cool 
air of authority, or supposing he wanted the weapon for the 
purpose of overawing the negro, gave it up. Blake then 
walked to the door, threw it open, and said : “ Peculiar Insti- 
tution, I fulfil my part of the contract. Now go and fulfil 
yours ; and see you don’t come the lawyer over me by break- 
ing your word.” 

Before Colonel Delaney Hyde could recover from the amaze- 
ment and wrath into which he was put by this act, Peculiar 
had disappeared from the room, and Blake, closing the door 
after him, had locked it, and taken out the key and thrust it 
in his pocket. 

“May I be shot,” exclaimed the Colonel, “but this is the 
damdest mean Yankee swindle I ever had put on me yit, — 
damned if it ain’t ! Here I ’ve been to a hunderd dollars ex- 
pense to git back that ar nigger, and now I ’m tricked out of 
my property by the very man I hired to help me git it. This 
is Yankee all through, — damned if it ain’t ! ” 

Charlton, still pale and trembling from his recent shock, had 
yet strength to put in these words : “ I must say, Mr. Blake, 
your conduct has been unprofessional and unhandsome. There 
is n’t another officer in the whole corps that would have com- 
mitted such a blunder. I shall report you to your superiors.” 


A DESCENDANT OF THE CAVALIERS. 


67 


Blake shook his finger at him, and replied, “ Open your lips 
again, you beggarly hound, and I ’ll slap your face.” 

Charlton collapsed into silence. Blake took a chair and 
said, “Amuse yourselves five minutes, gentlemen, and then 
I ’ll open the door.” 

“ A hell of a feller fur an officer ! ” muttered the Colonel. 
“To let the nigger slide in that ar way, afore I ’d ever a chance 
to take from him his money and watch, which in course owt to 
go to payin’ my expenses. Cuss me if I — ” 

“ Silence ! ” exclaimed Blake in a voice of thunder. 

Cowed by the force of a reckless and impulsive will, all 
present now kept quiet. Colonel Hyde, who, deprived of his 
revolver, felt his imbecility keenly, went to the window and 
looked out. Iverson, who was a coward, tried to smile, and 
then, seeing the expression on Blake’s face, looked suddenly 
grave. Captain Skinner gave way to melancholy forebodings. 
His companion, Biggs, refreshed himself with a quid of tobacco, 
and stood straddling and bracing himself on his feet as if he 
thought a storm was brewing, and expected a lurch to leeward 
to take him off his legs. As for Charlton, he drew a slip of 
paper toward him, and appeared to be carelessly figuring on 
it ; although, when he thought Blake was not looking, his manner 
changed to an eager and anxious consideration of the matter 
before him. 

The five minutes had nearly expired when Blake rose, 
turned his back to Charlton, and seemed to be lost in reverie. 
Charlton took this opportunity to hastily finish what he had 
been writing. He then enclosed it in an envelope, and directed 
it. This done, he motioned to Iverson, and held up the letter. 
The latter nodded, and pointed with a motion of the thumb to 
a newspaper on the table. Charlton placed the letter under it, 
coughed, and turned to warm himself at the stove. Iverson 
sidled toward the newspaper, but before he could reach it, 
Blake turned and dashed his fist on it, took up the letter, and 
whispered menacingly to Charlton, “ Utter a single word, and 
I’ll choke you.” 

Then unlocking and opening the door, he said to the other 
persons in the room, “ Go ! you can return, if you choose, at five 
o’clock.” 


68 


PECULIAR. 


u Give me my revolver,” demanded the Colonel. 

“ Say two words, and I ’ll have you arrested for trying to 
shoot an unarmed man,” replied Blake. 

The Colonel swallowed his rage and left the room, followed 
by Iverson and the two witnesses. Blake again locked the door 
and took the key. 

“ What ’s the meaning of all this ? ” asked Charlton, serious- 
ly alarmed. 

“ It means that if you open that traitor’s mouth of yours 
till I tell you to, you ’ll come to grief.” 

Charlton subsided and was silent. 

Blake unfolded the paper he had seized, and read as follows : 
“ You will probably find Peek, either at Bunker’s in Broadway, 
or at his rooms in Greenwich Street, the side nearest the river, 
third or fourth house from the corner of Dey Street.” 

Blake thrust the paper back into his pocket, and, wholly re- 
gardless of Charlton’s presence, began pacing the floor. 


THE UPPER AND THE LOWER LAW. 


69 


CHAPTER IX 


THE UPPER AND THE LOWER LAW. 


“ There is a law above all the enactments of human codes, — the same throughout the 
world, the same in all times : it is the law written by the finger of God on the heart of 
man ; and by that law, unchangeable and eternal, while men despise fraud and loathe 
rapine and abhor bloodshed, they will reject with indignation the wild and guilty fan- 
tasy than man can hold property in man.” — Lord Brougham, 



IHE policeman, Blake, was a Vermonter whose grandsire 


1 had been one of the eighty men under Ethan Allen at 
the capture of Fort Ticonderoga. The traditions of the Revo- 
lution were therefore something more than barren legends in 
Blake’s mind. They had inspired him with an enthusiastic 
admiration of the republic and its institutions. His patriotism 
was a sentiment which all the political and moral corruption, 
with which a New York policeman is inevitably brought, in 
contact, could not corrode or enfeeble. 

Even slavery, being tolerated by the Constitution of the 
United States, was, in his view, not to be spoken of lightly. 
He shut his eyes and his ears to all that could be said in its 
condemnation ; he opened them to all its palliating features 
and facts. Did not statistics prove that the blacks, in a state 
of slavery, increase in double the proportion they do in a state 
of freedom, surrounded by whites ? This comforting argument 
was eagerly seized by Blake as a moral sedative. 

The Fugitive-Slave Law he was satisfied was strictly in 
accordance with both the spirit and the letter of the Constitu- 
tion of the United States. Therefore it must be honestly 
enforced. The Abolitionists, who were striving to defeat the 
execution of the law, were almost as bad as Mississippi repudi- 
ates who were swindling their foreign creditors. So long as we 
were enjoying the benefits of the Constitution, was it not mean 
and dastardly to undertake to jockey the South out of the 
obvious protection of that clause in it which has reference to 
the “ person held to service or labor,” which we all knew to 
mean the slave ? 


70 


PECULIAR. 


Considerations like these had made Blake one of the most 
earnest advocates of the enforcement of the law among his 
brethren of the police ; and when at last he was called on to 
carry it out in the case of Peek, he felt that obedience was a 
duty which it would be poltroonery to evade. He went forth, 
therefore, with alacrity that morning, resolved to allow no 
mawkish sensibility to interfere with his obligations as an 
officer and a citizen. 

Accompanied by Iverson, he waited on Colonel Delaney 
Hyde at the New York Hotel. They found that worthy in 
the smoking-room, seated at a small marble table, with a cigar 
in his mouth and an emptied tumbler, which smelt strongly 
of undiluted whiskey, before him. The Colonel graciously 
asked the officers to “liquor.” Iverson assented, but Blake 
declined. 

A refusal to “ liquor,” the Colonel had been bred to regard 
as a personal indignity ; and so, turning to Blake, he said : 
“ Look here, stranger ! I ’m Colonel Delaney Hyde. Virginia- 
born, be Gawd ! From one of the oldest families in the State ! 
None of yer interloping Yankee scum ! No Puritan blood in 
me ! My ahneestor was one of the cavalyers. My father was 
one of the largest slave-owners in the State. Now if yer 
want to put an affront on me, I ’d jest have yer understand 
fust who yer’ve got to deal with.” 

“ Bah ! ” said Blake, turning on his heel, and walking to the 
window. 

Iverson, who dreaded a scene, smoothed over the affront 
with a lie. “ The fact is, Colonel,” whispered he, “ Blake 
would n’t be fit for duty if he were to drink with us. A spoon- 
ful upsets him ; but he ’s ashamed to confess it. A weak head ! 
You understand?” 

The explanation pacified the Colonel. Indeed, his sympa- 
thies were at once wakened for the unhappy man who could n’t 
drink. This representative of the interests of slavery certainly 
did not prepossess Blake in favor of his mission ; but justice 
must be done, notwithstanding the character of the claimant. 

An addition was now made to the circle. Captain Skinner 
and Biggs, the sailor already mentioned, — a short, thick-set 
stump of a man, with only one eye, and that black and over- 


THE UPPER AND THE LOWER LAW. 


71 


arched by a bushy, gray eyebrow, — a very wicked-looking old 
fellow, — entered and made themselves known to the Colonel. 
They had come up from New London, to serve as witnesses. 
As a matter of policy, the Colonel could not do less than ask 
them to join in the raid on the whiskey decanter ; and this 
they did so effectually that the last drop disappeared in Biggs’s 
capacious tumbler. 

As it was not yet time for the appointment at Charlton’s 
office, the party, all but Blake, took chairs and lighted cigars, 
and the Colonel asked Captain Skinner to narrate the circum- 
stances of Peek’s appearance on board the Albatross. 

“Well, you see, Colonel,” said Skinner, “we had been ten 
days out, when one night the second mate, as he was poking 
about between decks, caught a strange nigger creeping into a 
cotton-bale just for’ard of the store-room. We ordered the 
nigger out, and he came into the cabin, and pretended to be a 
free nigger, and said he ’d pay his passage as soon as he could 
git work in New York. In course I knew he was lyin’, but 
I did n’t let on that I suspected him. I played smooth ; and 
cuss me, if the nigger did n’t play smooth too ; for he made as 
if he believed me ; and so when we got to New London, afore 
I could git the officers on board, he jumped into the water and 
swam to old Payson’s boat, and Payson he got him on board 
one of the Sound steamers, and had him put through to New 
York that same night. The next day Payson attakted me in 
the street, knocked me down, and stamped on me, and afore 
I could have him tuk up, he was on board that infernal boat of 
his, and off out of sight. There ’s the scar of the gash Payson 
left on my skull.” 

Blake, at these words, left the window, and came and looked 
at the scar with evident satisfaction. Colonel Hyde, with a 
lordly air of patronage, held out his hand to Skinner, and said : 
“ Capting, the scar is an honor. Capting, yer hand. I love to 
meet a high-tone gemmleman, and you ’re one. Capting, allow 
me to shake yer hand.” 

“ With pleasure,” said Biggs, taking the Colonel’s hand and 
shaking it in his own big, coarsely-seamed flipper, before the 
Captain had a chance to reach out. The Colonel smiled grim- 
ly at Biggs’s playfulness, but said nothing. 


72 


PECULIAR. 


u Come ! it ’s time to go,” exclaimed Iverson, looking at his 
watch. The party rose, and proceeded down Broadway to 
Charlton’s office. We have already seen what transpired on 
their arrival. Our business is now with what happened after 
their departure. 

Three o’clock struck. The small hand on the dial of Trinity 
was fast moving toward four ; and still Blake paced the floor in 
Charlton’s office. Every now and then there would be a knock 
at the door, and Blake, with a menacing shake of his head, 
would impose silence on the conveyancer, till the applicant for 
admission, tired of knocking, would go away. 

Blake’s thoughts were in the condition of a chopping sea 
where wind and tide are opposing each other. Reflections that 
reached to the very foundation of human society — questions 
of abstract right and wrong — were combating old notions 
adopted on the authority of others, and as yet untested in the 
cupel of his own conscience. 

Brought for the first time face to face with the law for the 
rendition of fugitive slaves, — encountering it in its practical 
operation, — he found -in it a barbarous necessity from which 
his heart recoiled with horror and disgust. Must he disregard 
that pleading cry of conscience, that voice of God and Christ 
in his soul, calling on him to do in righteousness unto others as 
he would have them do unto him ? Could any human enact- 
ment exempt him from that paramount obedience ? 

How had he felt dwarfed in another’s presence that day ! 
He had seen a man, and that man a negro, putting forth his 
manhood in the best way he could to parry the arm of a savage 
oppression, doubly fiendish in its mockery, coming as it did 
under the respectable escort of the law. Surely the negro 
showed himself better worthy of freedom than any white man 
among his hunters. 

Would the fellow keep his pledge ? Would he come back ? 
Blake now earnestly hoped he would not. Was not any strat- 
agem justifiable in such a case? Should we mind resorting to 
deception in order to rescue ourselves or another from a mad- 
man or a murderer ? Why, then, might not Peek violate his 
written promise, made as it was to men who were trying to rob 
him of a freedom more precious than life to such a soul as his ? 


THE UPPER AND THE LOWER LAW. 


73 


But had not he himself — he, Blake — made use of his poor 
show of generosity to impress it on Peek that he must prove 
worthy the trust reposed in him ? This recollection brought 
bitter regret to the policeman. Instead of encouraging the 
negro to escape, he had put scruples of conscience or of gen- 
erosity in his way, which might induce him to return. Would 
Blake have done so to his own brother, under similar circum- 
stances ? Would he not have bidden him cheat his persecu- 
tors, and make good his flight ? Assuredly yes ! And yet to 
the poor negro he had practically said, Return ! 

These reflections wrought powerfully upon Blake. Why not 
run and urge the negro to escape ? It was still more than an 
hour to five o’clock. Yes, he would do it ! 

Then came a consideration to check the impulse. He, a 
sworn officer of the law, should he lend himself to the defeat of 
the very law he had taken it upon himself to execute ? Was 
there not something intensely dishonest in such a course? 

Well, he could do one thing at least : he could resign his 
office, and then try to undo the mischief he had perhaps done 
the negro by his injunction. Yes, he would do that. 

Impulsive in all his movements, Blake looked at his watch, 
and found he would have just an hour in which to crowd all 
the action he proposed to himself. Turning to Charlton, he 
said : “ Your conduct to this runaway slave will make your life 
insecure if I choose to go to certain men in this city and tell 
them what I can with truth. What you now are intending to 
do is to have the slave intercepted. I don’t ask you to prom- 
ise, simply because you will lie if you think it safe ; but I 
say this to you : If I find that any measures are taken before 
five o’clock to catch the slave, I shall hold you responsible for 
them, and shall expose you to parties who will see you are 
paid back for your rascality. Take no step for an arrest, and I 
hold my tongue.” 

Glad of such a compromise, Charlton replied : “I’m agreed. 
Up to five o’clock I ’ll do nothing, directly or indirectly, to 
intercept the nigger.” 

Blake was speedily in the street after this. He hurried to 
the City Hall, found the Chief of Police, gave in his resig- 
nation, deposited Colonel Hyde’s pistol among the curiosi- 

4 


74 


PECULIAR. 


ties of the room, and said that another man must be found to 
attend to the case at Charlton’s office. Having in this way 
eased his conscience, Blake ran as far as Broadway, and 
jumped into an omnibus. But the omnibus was too slow, so he 
jumped out and ran down Broadway to Bunker’s. How the 
precious time flew by ! Before he could be satisfied at Bunk- 
er’s that Peek was not there, the clock indicated five minutes 
of five. He rushed out in the direction of the slave’s lodgings. 
An old woman with wrinkled face, and bent form, and carrying 
a broom, was showing the apartments to an applicant who 
thought of moving from the story below. Where were the 
negro and his wife ? Gone ! How long ago ? More than two 
hours ! The clock struck five. 

Wholly disheartened, Blake ran back to Charlton’s office. 
He found it locked. No one answered to his knock. Raising 
his foot he kicked open the door with a single effort. The 
office was deserted. No one there ! He ran to the Jersey 
City ferry-boat that carries passengers for the Philadelphia 
cars ; it had left the wharf some twenty minutes before. 
Baffled in all directions, he took his way to the police-station to 
find Iverson ; but that officer was on duty, nobody knew where. 
After waiting at the station till nearly midnight, Blake at last, 
worn out with discouragement and fatigue, went home. 

What had become of Peek all this time ? 

Anticipating that he and his wife might at any moment find it 
prudent to leave for Canada at half an hour’s notice, Peek had 
always kept his affairs in a state to enable him to do this con- 
veniently. He had hired his rooms, furniture, and piano-forte 
by the week, paying for them in advance. Two small trunks 
were sufficient to contain all his movable property ; and these 
might be packed in five minutes. 

Flora, his wife, who like Peek was of unmixed blood, had 
been lady’s maid in a family in Vicksburg. Here she had be- 
come an expert in washing and doing up muslins and other fine 
articles of female attire. But the lady she served died, and 
Flora became the property of Mr. Penfield, a planter, who, 
looking on her with the eyes that a cattle-breeder might turn 
on a Durham cow, ordered her to marry one Bully Bill, a lusty 
African with a neck like the cylinder of a steam-engine. Flora 


THE UPPER AND THE LOWER LAW. 


75 


objected, ai_d learning that her objections would not be respected, 
she ran away, and after various fortunes settled at Montreal. 
Here she married Peek, who taught her to read and write. 
She had been bred a pious Catholic, and Peek, finding that 
they agreed in the essentials of a devout and believing heart, 
never undertook to disturb her faith. 

They moved to New York, and Peek with his wages as 
waiter, and Flora with the money she got for doing up muslins, 
earned jointly an income which placed them far above want in 
the region of absolute comfort and partial refinement. Few 
more happy and loyal couples could have been found even in 
freestone palaces on the Fifth Avenue. 

“ Well, Flora, how long will it take you to get ready?” said 
Peek, entering the neat little kitchen, where she was at work 
at her ironing-board, while little Sterling sat amusing himself 
on the floor in building a house with small wooden bricks. 

Flora, at once comprehending the intent of the question, re- 
plied, “I sha’n’t want more ’n half an hour.” 

“ Well, a boat leaves for Albany at five,” said Peek, taking 
the Sun newspaper, and cutting out an advertisement. “ We ’d 
better quit here, and go on board just as soon as we can.” 

“ Le ’m me see,” said Flora, meditatively. “ The grocer at 
the corner will send round these muslins, ’specially if we pay 
him for it. My customers owe me twenty dollars, — how shall 
we collek that?” 

“ You can write to them from Montreal.” 

“ Lor ! so I can, Peek. Who ’d have thought of it but you ? ” 

“ Come, then ! Be lively. Tumble the things into the 
trunks. We ’ll give poor old Petticum the odds and ends we 
leave behind ; and she ’ll notify the landlord, and take care of 
the rooms.” 

In less than an hour’s time they had made all their prepara- 
tions, and were all three in a coach with their luggage, rattling 
up Greenwich Street towards one of the Twenties. Here they 
went on board an old steamer, recently taken from the regular 
line for freighting purposes, and carrying only a few passengers. 
Having seen Flora and Sterling safely bestowed with the lug- 
gage, and given the former his watch and all his money, except 
a dollar in change, Peek said : “ Now, Flora, I ’ve got to go 


76 


PECULIAR. 


ashore on business. If I shouldn’t be here when the boat 
starts, do you keep straight on to Montreal without me. Go to 
the post-office regularly twice a week to see if there ’s a letter 
for you.” 

“ What is it, Peek ? Tell me all about it,” said Flora, who 
painfully felt there was a secret which her husband did not 
choose to disclose. 

“ Now, Flora, don’t, be silly,” replied Peek, wiping the tears 
from her face with his handkerchief. “ I tell you, I may be 
aboard again before you start, — have n’t made up my mind yet, 
— only, if you shouldn’t see me, never you mind, but just 
keep on. Find out your old customers in Montreal, and wait 
patiently till I join you. *So don’t cry about it. The Lord 
will take care of it all. Here ’s a handbill that tells you the 
best way to get to Montreal. Look out for pickpockets. I 
should n’t leave you if I did n’t have to, Flora. I ’ll tell you 
everything about it when we meet. So good by.” 

Having no suspicion of the actual cause of Peek’s leaving 
her, and confident, through faith in him, that it must be for a 
right purpose, Flora cheered up, and said: "Well, Peek, I 
’spec you ’ve got some little debts to pay ; but do come back 
to-day if you can ; and keep clar’ of the hounds, Peek, — 
keep clar’ of the hounds.” 

And so, kissing wife and child, with an overflowing heart 
Peek quitted the boat. He did not at once leave the vicinity. 
There was a pile of fresh lumber not far off. Dodging out 
of sight behind it, and then sitting down in a little enclosure 
formed by the boards, where he could see the boat and not be 
seen, he tried to orient his conscience as to his duty under the 
extraordinary circumstances in wliich he fotind himself. 

Go back to the life of a slave ? Leave wife and child, and 
return to bondage, degradation, subordination to another’s will ? 
He looked out on the beautiful river, flashing in the warm 
spring sunshine ; to the opposite shore of Hoboken, where he 
and Flora used to stroll on Sundays last summer, dragging 
Sterling in his little carriage. Was there to be no more of 
that pleasant independent life? 

A slave? Liable to be kicked, cuffed, spit on, fettered, 
scourged by such a creature as Colonel Delaney Hyde ? No 1 


THE UPPER AND THE LOWER LAW. 


77 


To escape the pursuing fiends who would force such a lot on 
an innocent human being, surely any subterfuge, any stratagem, 
any lie, would .be justifiable ! 

And Peek thought of the joy that Flora would feel at seeing 
him return, and he rose to go back to the boat. 

A single thought drew him back to his covert. “ So help 
me God.” Had he not pledged himself, — pledged himself in 
sincerity at the moment in those words ? Had he not by his 
act promised Blake, who had befriended him, that he would 
return, and might not Blake lose his situation if the promise 
were broken? 

As Peek found conscience getting the better of inclination in 
the dispute, he bowed his head in his hands, and wept sobbingly 
like a child. Such anguish was there in the thought of a sur- 
render ! Then, extending himself prostrate on the boards, his 
face down, and resting on his arms, he strove to shut out 
all except the voice of God in his soul. He uttered no word, 
but he felt the mastery of a great desire, and that was for 
guidance from above. Tender thoughts of the sufferings and 
wants of the poor slaves he had left on Barnwell’s plantation 
stole back to him. Would he not like to see them and be 
of service to them once more ? What if he should be whipped, 
imprisoned? Could he not brave all such risks, for the 
satisfaction of keeping a pledge made to a man who had shown 
him kindness ? And he recalled the words, once spoken through 
Corinna, “Not to be happy, but to deserve happiness.” 

Besides, might he not again escape ? Yes ! He would go 
back to Charlton’s office. He would surrender himself as he 
had promised. The words which Colone 1 Hyde had conceived 
to be of no more binding force than a wreath of tobacco-smoke 
were the chain stronger than steel that drew the negro back to 
the fulfilment of his pledge. “ So help me God ! ” Could he 
profane those words, and ever look up again to Heaven for 
succor ? 

And so he rose, took one despairing look at the boat, where 
he could see Flora pointing out to her little boy the wonders of 
the river, and then rushed away in the direction of Broadway. 
There was no lack of omnibuses, but no friendly driver would 
give him a seat on top, and he was excluded by social preju- 


78 


PECULIAR. 


dice from the inside. It was twenty minutes to five when 
he reached Union Park. Thence running all the way in the 
middle of the street with the carriages, he reached Charlton’s 
office before the clock had finished striking the hour. 

There had been wrangling and high words just before his 
entrance. Colonel Delaney Hyde was ejecting his wrath 
against the universal Yankee nation in the choicest terms of 
vituperation that his limited vocabulary could supply. The 
loss of both his nigger and his revolver had been too much for 
his equanimity. Captain Skinner and his companion, Biggs, 
were sturdily demanding their fees, which did not seem to be 
forthcoming. Charlton, in abject grief of heart, was silently 
lamenting the loss of his fifty dollars, forfeited by the non-de- 
livery of the slave ; and Iverson, the policeman, was delicately 
insinuating in the ear of the lawyer that he should look to him 
for his pay. 

Peek, entering in this knotty condition of affairs, was the 
Deus ex machina to disentangle the complication and set the 
wheels smoothly in motion. No one believed he would come 
back, and there issued from the lips of all an exclamation of 
surprise, not unseasoned with oaths to suit the several tastes. 

“ Cuss me if here ain’t the nigger himself come back ! ” ex- 
claimed the Colonel. “ Wall, Peek, I did n’t reckon you was 
gwine to keep yer word, and it made me swar some to see how 
I ’d been chiselled fust out of my revolver and then out of my 
nigger, by a damned Yankee policeman. But here you air, 
and we ’ll fix things right off, so ’s to be ready for the next 
Philadelphy train, if so be yer ’ll go without any fuss.” 

“Yes, I’ll go, Colonel,” said Peek, “but you’ll have an 
officer to see I don’t escape from the cars.” 

“ Thar ’s seventy-five dollars expense, blast yer ! ” exclaimed 
the Colonel. “ Yes, be Gawd ! I ’ve got to pay this man for 
goin’ to Cincinnati and back. O, but old Hawks will take your 
damned hide off when we git you back in Texas, — sure ! ” 

Peek, to serve some purpose of his own, here dropped his 
dignity entirely, and assumed the manner and language of the 
careless, rollicking plantation nigger. “ Yah ! yah ! ” laughed 
he. “ Wall, look a-he-ah, Kunnle Delaney Hyde. Les make a 
trade, — we two, — and git rid of the policeman altogedder. I 


THE UPPER AND THE LOWER LAW. 


79 


can sabe yer fifty dollars, shoo-er-r-r, Kunnle Delaney Hyde, if 
you ’ll do as how dis nigger tells yer to.” 

“ How ’ll yer do it, Peek ? ” asked the Colonel, much pacified 
by the slave’s repetition of his entire name and title. 

“ I ’ll promise to be a good nigger all the way to Cincinnati, 
and not try to run away, — no, not wunst, — if you ’ll pay me 
twenty-five dollars.” 

“ Will yer sign to that, Peek, and put in, ‘ So help me 
Gawd ’ ? ” asked the Colonel. 

Peek started, and looked sharply at Hyde ; and then quietly 
replied, u Yes, I ’ll do it, if you ’ll gib me the money to do with 
as I choose ; but you must agree to le ’pi me write a letter, and 
put it in the post-office afore we leeb.” 

The Colonel considered the matter a moment, then turned 
to Charlton, and said, “ Draw up an agreement, and let the 
nigger sign it, and be sure and put in, ‘ So help me Gawd.’ ” 

The arrangement was speedily concluded. The witnesses 
and the officers were paid off. Charlton received his fifty 
dollars and Peek his twenty-five. The slave then asked for 
pen, ink, and paper, and placed five cents on the table as pay- 
ment. In two minutes he finished a letter to Flora, and 
enclosed it with the money in an envelope, on which he wrote 
an address. Charlton tried hard to get a sight of it, but Peek 
did not give him a chance to do this. 

The Colonel and Peek then walked to the post-office, where 
the slave deposited his letter ; after which they passed over to 
Jersey City in the ferry-boat, and took the train to Philadel- 
phia. 

As for Charlton, no sooner had his company left him, than 
he seized his hat, locked up his office, and hurried to Green- 
wich Street, where he proceeded to examine the lodgings 
vacated by Peek. He found Mrs. Petticum engaged in col- 
lecting into baskets the various articles abandoned to her by 
the negroes, — old dusters, a hod of charcoal, kindling-wood, 
loaves of bread, and small collections of groceries, sufficient for 
the family for a week. Mrs. Petticum appeared to have been 
weeping, for she raised her apron and wiped her eyes as Charl- 
ton came in. 

“ Well, have they gone ? ” asked he. 


80 


PECULIAR. 


“ Yes, sir, and the wuss for me ! ” said the old woman. 

Charlton took his cue at once, and replied : “ They were 
excellent people, and I ’m sorry they ’ve gone. What was the 
matter ? Were the slave-catchers after them ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” sighed Petticum ; “ I should n’t wonder. 
Poor Flora ! That was all she worried about. I ’d like to 
have got my hands in the hair of the man that would have 
carried her off. Where ’ll you find the white folks better and 
decenter than they was ? ” 

“ Not in New York, ma’am,” said Charlton, stealthily look- 
ing about the room, examining every article of furniture, and 
opening the drawers. , 

“ The furniture belongs to Mr. Craig ; but all in the drawers 
is mine,” said the old woman, not favorably impressed by Charl- 
ton’s inquisitiveness. 

“ 0, it ’s all right,” replied Charlton ; “ I did n’t know but I 
could be of some help. You ’ve no idea where they went to ? ” 

“ They did n’t tell me, and if I knowed, I should n’t tell you, 
without I knowed they wanted me to.” 

“ O, it ’s no sort of consequence. I ’m a particular friend, 
that ’s all,” said Charlton. “ Did you notice the carriage 
they went off in?” ^ 

“ Yes, I did.” 

“ Could you tell me the number ? ” 

“ No, I could n’t.” 

Seeing an old handkerchief in one of the baskets, Charlton 
took it out, and looked at the mark. He could get nothing 
from that ; so he threw it back. An old shoe lay swept in a 
corner. He took it up. Stamped on the inner sole were the 
words, “ J. Darling, Ladies’ Shoes, Vicksburg.” Charlton 
copied the inscription in his memorandum-book before putting 
the shoe back where he had found it. The Sun newspaper 
lay on the floor. Taking it up, he found that an advertise- 
ment had been cut out. Selecting an opportunity when Mrs. 
Petticum was not looking, he thrust the paper in his pocket. 

And then, after examining an old stove-funnel, he went out. 

“ He ’s no gentleman, anyhow,” said Mrs. Petticum ; “ and 
I don’t believe he ever was a friend of the Jacobses.” 


GROUPS ON THE DECK. 


81 


CHAPTER X. 

GROUPS ON THE DECK. 

“Incredulity is but Credulity seen from behind, bowing and nodding assent to the 
Habitual and the Fashionable.” — Coleridge. 

T HE Pontiac had passed New Madrid on the Mississippi. 

She was advertised as a first-class high-pressure boat, 
bound to beat any other on the river in the long run, but with 
a captain and officers who were “ teetotalers,” and never raced. 

The weather had been stormy for several days ; but it was 
now a delightful April forenoon. The sun-bright atmosphere 
was at once fresh and soft, exhilarating and luxurious, in a 
combination one rarely enjoys so fully as on a Western prairie. 
The delicate spring tracery of the foliage was fast expanding 
into a richer exuberance on either bank of the great river. 
The dogwood, with its blossoms of an alabaster whiteness, here 
and there gleamed forth amid the tender green of the sur- 
rounding trees, — maples, sycamores, and oaks. All at once a 
magnolia sent forth a gush of fragrance from its snowy flowers. 
With every mile southward the verdure grew thicker and the 
blossoms larger. 

Two miles in the rear of the Pontiac, ploughing up the 
tawny waters with her sharp and pointed beak, came the 
Champion, a new boat, and destined, as many believed, to 
prove the fastest on the river. Whatever her capacities, she 
had thus far shown herself inferior to the Pontiac in speed. 
She kept within two or three miles, but failed to get much 
nearer. Captain Crane of the Pontiac, a small, thin, wiry man, 
who had acquired a great reputation for sagacity by always 
holding his tongue, kept puffing away at a cigar, looking now 
and then anxiously at his rival, but evidently happy in the 
assurance of victory. 

The passengers of the Pontiac were distributed in groups about 
different parts of the boat. Some were in the cabin playing at 

4* JT 


82 


PECULIAR. 


euchre or brag. Some, regardless of the delicious atmosphere 
which they could drink in without money and without price, 
were imbibing fiery liquors at the bar, or puffing away at bad 
cigars on the forward part of the lower deck. A few were 
reading, and here and there a lady might be seen busy with 
her needle. 

On the hurricane deck were those who had come up for con- 
versation or a promenade. Smokers were requested to keep 
below. The groups here were rather more select and less 
numerous than on the rqain deck. They were mostly gathered 
aft, so that the few promenaders could have a clear space. 

Among these last were a lady and two gentlemen, one 
on either side of her; the younger, a man apparently about 
thirty-two, of middle height, finely formed, handsome, and with 
the quiet, unarrogating air of one whose nobility is a part of his 
nature, not a question of convention. (The snob’s nonchalance 
is always spurious. He hopes to make you think he is uncon- 
scious of your existence, and all the while is anxiously trying 
to dazzle or stun you by his appearance.) 

The other gentleman was also one to whom that much- 
abused name would be unhesitatingly applied. He seemed to 
be about fifty-five, with a person approaching the portly, digni- 
fied, gray-haired, and his face indicating benevolence and self- 
control. 

The lady, who appeared to be the wife of the younger man, 
was half a head shorter than he, and a model of delicate 
beauty in union with high health. Personally of a figure and 
carriage which Art and Grace could hardly improve, she was 
dressed in a simple gray travelling-habit, with a velvet hat and 
ostrich-plumes of the same color. But she had the rare skill 
of making simplicity a charm. Flounces, jewels, and laces 
would have been an impertinence. While she conversed, she 
seemed to take a special interest in a group that occupied two 
u patent life-preserving stools ” near the centre of the deck, A 
young boy held in his lap a little girl, seemingly not more than 
two years old, and pointed out pictures to her from a book, 
while a mulatto woman, addressed as Hattie, who appeared to 
have the infant in charge, joined in their juvenile prattle, and 
placed her arm so as to assist the boy in securing his hold. 


GROUPS ON THE DECK. 


83 


“ Your son seems to know how to fascinate children,” said 
the lady, addressing the elder gentleman ; “ he has evidently 
won the heart of my little Clara.” 

“He has a sister just about her age in Texas,” replied 
the father ; “ he is glad to find in your little girl a substitute for 
Emily.” 

“ You live in Texas then ? ” asked the younger gentleman. 

“ Yes ; let me introduce myself, since I was the first to broach 
conversation. My name is John Onslow, and my home is 
in Southwestern Texas, though I was born in Mississippi, 
whence I removed some six or seven years ago. My family 
consists of a wife, two sons, and a daughter. The younger of 
my sons, Robert, sits yonder. The elder, William Temple, is 
a student at Yale. I inherited several hundred slaves. I have 
gradually liberated them all. In Texas I am trying the experi- 
ment of free labor ; but it is regarded with dislike by my slave- 
holding neighbors, and they do not scruple, behind my back, 
to call me an Abolitionist. I have been North to buy farm- 
ing implements, and to offer inducements to German immi- 
grants. There, sir, you have my story; and if you are a 
Yankee, you will appreciate my candor.” 

“ And requite it, I suppose you think,” returned the younger 
gentleman, laughing. “ It strikes me that it is you, Mr. Ons- 
low, who are playing the Yankee. You have been talking, sir, 
with one Henry Berwick, New-Yorker by birth, retired lawyer 
by profession, and now on his way to New Orleans to attend to 
some real estate belonging to his wife. That little girl is his 
daughter. This lady is his wife. My dear, this is our fellow- 
passenger, Mr. Onslow. Allow me to introduce him to your 
better acquaintance.” 

The lady courtesied, flashing upon the stranger a smile that 
said as eloquently as smile could say, “ I need no vouchers ; I 
flatter myself I can distinguish a gentleman.” 

As she turned aside her glance it met that of a third person, 
till then unnoticed. He was pacing the deck and held an opera- 
glass in his hand, with which he looked at places on either 
bank. He was slightly above the middle height, compactly 
built, yet rather slender than stout, erect, square-shouldered, 
neatly limbed. He might be anywhere between thirty and 


84 


PECULIAR. 


thirty-five years of age. His hair was here and there threaded 
with gray, and his cheeks were somewhat sunken, although 
there was nothing to suggest the lassitude of ill-health in his 
appearance. Ilis complexion was that of a man who leads an 
active out-of-door life ; but his hands were small and unmarked 
by toil. He wore his beard neatly trimmed. His finely 
curved Roman features and small expressive mouth spoke re- 
finement and strength of will, not untempered with tenderness ; 
while his dark gray eyes seemed to penetrate without a pause 
straight’ to their object. A sagacious physiognomist would have 
said of him, “ That man has a story to tell ; life has been to 
him no holiday frolic.” In the expression of his eyes Mrs. 
Berwick was reminded of Sir Joshua’s fine picture of “ The 
Banished Lord.” This stranger, as he passed by, looked at 
her gravely but intently, as if struck either by her beauty or 
by a fancied resemblance to some one he had known. There 
was that in his glance which so drew her attention, she said 
to her husband, “ Who is that man ? ” 

“ I have not seen him before,” replied Mr. Berwick. “ Prob- 
ably he came on board at New Madrid.” 

They walked to the extent of their promenade forward, and 
turning saw this stranger leaning against the bulwarks. His 
low-crowned hat of a delicate, pliable felt, with its brims half 
curled up, his well-cut pantaloons of a coarse but unspotted 
fabric, and his thin overcoat of a light gray, showed that the 
Broadway fashions of the hour were not unfamiliar to the 
wearer. This time he did not look up as the three passed. 
His gaze seemed intent on the children; and the soft smile 
on his lips and the dewy suffusion in his eyes betrayed emotion 
and tender meditation. 

“ Well, Leonora, what is your judgment? Is he, too, a gen- 
tleman?” asked Mr. Berwick of his wife. 

“ Yes ; I will stake my reputation as a sibyl on it,” she 
replied. 

“ Ah ! you vain mother ! ” said Berwick, laughing. “ You 
say that, because he seems lost in admiration of our little Clara. 
Is n’t her weakness transparent, Mr. Onslow ? What think you 
of this new-comer ? ” 

“ He certainly has the air of a gentleman,” said Onslow 


GROUPS ON THE DECK. 


85 


“ and yet lie looks to me very much like a fellow I once had up 
before me for horse-stealing. Was he too much interested in 
looking at your wife, or did he purposely abstain from letting 
me catch his eye ? I should n’t wonder if he were either a 
steamboat gambler or a horse-thief I ” 

“ Atrocious ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Berwick. “ I don’t believe a 
word of it. That man a horse-thief! Impossible!” 

“On closer examination, I think I must be mistaken,” re- 
joined Mr. Onslow. “ If I remember aright, the fellow with 
whom I confound him had red hair.” 

“ There ! I knew you must be either joking or in error,” 
said the lady. 

“ And now,” continued Mr. Onslow, “ I have a vague recol- 
lection of meeting him at the hotel where I stopped in Chicago 
last week.” 

“ Ah ! if he is a Chicago man, I must be right in my estimate 
of him,” said Mrs. Berwick. 

“ Why so ? Why should you be partial to Chicago ? ” 

“ Because my father was one of the first residents of the 
place.” 

“ What was his name ? ” 

“ Robert Aylesford.” 

As she uttered this word they repassed the stranger. To 
their surprise he repeated, in a tone of astonishment, “ Ayles- 
ford ! ” then seemed to fall into a fit of musing. Before they 
again reached the spot, he had walked away, and taken a seat 
in an arm-chair aft, where he occupied himself in wiping the 
opera-glass with his handkerchief. If he had recognized Ons- 
low, he had not betrayed it. 

Here the attention of all on the upper deck was arrested by 
an explosion of wrathful oaths. 

A tall, gaunt, round-shouldered man, dressed in an ill-fitting 
suit of some coarse, home-made cloth, had ascended the stairs 
with a lighted cigar in his mouth. One of the waiters of the 
boat, a bright-looking mulatto, followed him, calling, “ Mister ! 
Mister ! ” 

The tali man paid no heed to the call, and the mulatto 
touched him on the shoulder, and said, “ We don’t allow smok- 
ing on this deck,” whereupon the tall man angrily turned on 


86 


PECULIAR. 


him, and, with eyes blazing with savage fire, exclaimed : “ What 
in hell air yer at, nigger ? Ask my pardon, blast yer, or I ’ll 
smash in yer ugly profile, sure ! ” 

“Ask your pardon for what?” 

“ For darrin’ to put yer black hand on me, confound yer ! ” 

The mulatto replied with spirit : “You don’t bully this child, 
Mister. I merely did my duty.” 

“ Duty be damned ! I ’ll stick yer, sure, if yer don’t apolo- 
gize right off, damned lively ! ” And the tall man unsheathed a 
monstrous bowie-knife. 

Mr. Onslow approached, and mildly interposed with the re- 
mark, “ It was natural for the waiter to touch you, since he 
could n’t make you hear.” 

“ Who the hell air you, sir ? ” said the tall man. “T reckon 
I kn settle with the nigger without no help of yourn.” 

“ Yes,” said another voice ; “ if the gentleman demands it, 
the nigger must ask his pardon.” 

Mr. Onslow turned, and to his surprise beheld the stranger 
with the opera-glass. 

“ Really, sir,” said Mr. Onslow, “ I hope you do not wish to 
see a man degrade himself merely because he is n’t white like 
ourselves.” 

“ The point can’t be argued, sir,” said the stranger, putting 
his glass in his pocket. Then seizing the mulatto by the 
throat, he thrust him on his knees. “ Down, you black hound, 
and ask this gentleman’s pardon.” 

To everybody’s surprise, the mulatto’s whole manner 
changed the minute he saw the stranger; and, sinking on 
his knees, he crossed his arms on his breast, and, with down- 
cast eyes, said, addressing the tall man, “ I ask pardon, sir, for 
putting my hand on you.” 

“Wall, that’s enough, nigger! I pardon yer,” said the mol- 
lified tall man, returning his bowie-knife to its sheath. “ Nig- 
gers mus’ know thar places, — that ’s all. Ef a nigger knows 
his place, I ’d no more harm him nor I ’d harm a val’able hoss.” 

The mulatto rose and walked away ; but with no such show 
of chagrin as a keen observer might have expected ; and the 
tall man, turning to him of the opera-glass, said, “ Sir, ye ’r a 
high-tone gemmleman ; an’ cuss me but I ’m proud of yer ao* 
quaint. W r ho mowt it be I kn call yer, sir ? ” 


GROUPS ON THE DECK. 


87 


“ Vance of New Orleans,” was the reply. 

“ Mr. Vance, I ’m yourn. I know’d yer mus’ be from the 
South. Yer mus’ liquor with me, Mr. Vance. Sir, ye’r a 
high-tone gemmleman. I ’m Kunnle Hyde, — Kunnle Delaney 
Hyde. Virginia-born, be Gawd ! An’ I ’m not ashamed ter 
say it ! My ahnces / tors cum over with the cavaTyers in King 
James’s time, — yes, sir-r-r ! My father was one of the largest 
slave-owners in the hull State of Virginia, — yes, sir-r-r ! 
Lost his proputty, every damned cent of it, sir, through a low- 
lived Yankee judge, sir ! ” 

“I could have sworn, Colonel Hyde, there was no Puritan 
blood in your veins.” 

“ That ’s a fak ! ” said the Colonel, grimly smiling his grati- 
fication. Then, throwing his cigar overboard, he remarked: 
“ The Champion ’s nowhar, I reckon, by this time. She ain’t 
in sight no longer. What say yer to a brandy-smash? Or 
sh’l it be a julep ? ” 

“ The bar is crowded just now ; let ’s wait awhile,” replied 
Vance. 

Here Mr. Onslow turned away in disgust, and, rejoining the 
Berwicks, remarked to the lady, “What think you of your 
gentleman now ? ” 

“ I shall keep my thoughts respecting him to myself for the 
present,” she replied. 

“ My wife piques herself on her skill in judging of character 
by the physiognomy,” said Mr. Berwick, apologetically ; “ and 
I see you can’t make her believe she is wrong in this case. 
She sometimes gets impressions from the very handwriting of 
a person, and they often turn out wonderfully correct.” 

“ Has Mrs. Berwick the gift of second-sight ? Is she a 
seeress ? ” 

“Her faculty does not often show itself in soothsaying,” 
said Berwick. “ But I have a step-mother who now and then 
has premonitions.” 

“ Do they ever find a fulfilment ? ” 

“ One time in a hundred, perhaps,” said Berwick. “ If I 
believed in them largely, I should not be on board this boat.” 

“ Why so ? ” inquired Onslow. 

“ She predicts disaster to it.” 


88 


PECULIAR. 


“ But why did you not tell me that before ? ” asked Mrs. 
Berwick. 

“ Simply, my dear, because you are inclined to be supersti- 
tious.” 

“ Hear him, Mr. Onslow ! ” said Mrs. Berwick. “ He calls 
me superstitious because I believe in spirits, whereas it is that 
belief which has cured me of superstition.” 

“ I can readily suppose it,” replied Onslow. “ The supersti- 
tious man is the unbeliever, — he who thinks that all these 
phenomena can be produced by the blind, unintelligent forces 
of nature, by a mechanical or chemical necessity.” 

“ I may believe in spirits in their proper places,” said Ber- 
wick, “ and not believe in their visiting this earth.” 

“ But what if their condition is such that they are inde- 
pendent of those restrictions of space or place which are such 
impediments to us poor mortals ? ” 

“ Do you, too, then, believe in ghosts ? ” asked Berwick. 

“ Yes ; I am a ghost myself,” said Onslow. 

Berwick started at the abruptness of the announcement, then 
smiled, and replied, “ Prove it.” 

“ That I will, both etymologically and chemically,” rejoined 
Onslow. “ The words ghost and gas are set down by a major- 
ity of the philologists as from the same root, whether Gothic, 
Saxon, or Sanscrit, implying vapor, spirit. The fermenting 
yeast , the steaming geyser , are allied to it. Now modem science 
has established (and Professor Henry will confirm what I say) 
that man begins his earthly existence as a microscopic vesicle 
of almost pure and transparent water. It is not true that he is 
made of dust. He consists principally of solidified air. The 
ashes which remain after combustion are the only ingredient of 
an earthy character that enters into the composition of his 
body. All the other parts of it were originally in the atmos- 
phere. Nay, a more advanced science will probably show 
that even his ashes, in their last analysis, are an invisible, 
gaseous substance. Nine tenths of a man’s body, we can even 
now prove, are water ; and water, we all know, may be decom- 
posed into invisible gases, and then made to reappear as a visi- 
ble liquid. Science tells me, dear madam, that as to my body 
I am nothing but forty or fifty pounds of carbon and nitrogen, 


GROUPS ON THE DECK, 


89 


dilated by five and a half pailfuls of water. Put me under 
hydraulic pressure, and you can prove it. So I do seriously 
maintain, that I am as much entitled to the appellation of a 
ghost (that is, a gaseous body) as was the buried majesty of 
Denmark, otherwise known as Hamlet’s father.” 

“ And I assert that Mr. Onslow has proved his point admi- 
rably,” said Mrs. Berwick, clapping her little hands. 

“I confess I never before considered the subject in that 
light,” rejoined her husband. 

“ If science can prove,” continued Mr. Onslow, “ that nine 
tenths of my present body may be changed to a gaseous, invisi- 
ble substance (invisible to mortal eyes), with power to permeate 
what we call matter, like electricity, is it so very difficult to 
imagine that a spirit in a spiritual body may be standing here 
by our side without our knowing it ? ” 

“ I see you have n’t the fear of Sir David Brewster and the 
North British Review before your eyes, Mr. Onslow.” 

“ No, for I do not regard them as infallible either in ques- 
tions of physical or of metaphysical science. Rather, with John 
Wesley, the founder of Methodism, would I say, ‘ With my 
latest breath will I bear testimony against giving up to infidels 
one great proof of the invisible world, that, namely, of witch- 
craft and apparitions, confirmed by the testimony of all ages.’ ” 

While this discussion was proceeding, Colonel Hyde and his 
new acquaintance were pacing the larboard side of the deck, 
pausing now and then at the railing forward of the wheel-house 
and looking down on the lower deck, where, seated upon a coil of 
cables, were four negroes, one of them, and he the most intelli- 
gent-looking of the lot, being handcuffed. 

“ How are niggers now ? ” asked Mr. Vance. 

“ Niggers air bringin’ fust-rate prices jest now,” replied the 
Colonel ; “ and Gov’nor Wise he reckons ef we fix Californy 
and Kahnsas all right, a prime article of a nigger will fotch 
twenty-five hunderd dollars, sure.” 

“ What ’s the prospect of doing that ? ” 

“ Good. The South ain’t sleeping, — no, not by a damned 
sight. Californy ’s boimd to be ourn, an’ the Missouri boys will 
take car’ of Kahnsas.” 

“ I see the North are threatening to send in armed immi- 


90 


PECULIAR. 


grants,” said Vance ; “ and one John Brown swears Kansas 
shall be free soil.” 

“ John Brown be damned ! ” replied the Colonel. “ One 
common Suthun man is more ’n a match fur five of thar best 
Yankees, any day. Kahnsas must be ourn, ef we hev to shoot 
every white squatter in the hull terrertory. By the way, 
that ’s a likely yuller gal, sittin’ thar with the bebby. That gal 
ud bring sixteen hunderd dollars sure in Noo Orleenz.” 

“ Whose niggers are those I see forward there, on the 
cables ? ” asked Vance. 

“ Them niggers, Mr. Vance, air under my car’, an’ I ’m takin’ 
’em to Texas fur Kunnle Barnwell. The feller yer see han’cuffed 
thar an’ sleepin’, run away three or four yars ago. At last 
the Kunnle heerd, through Hermin & Co., that Peek (that ’s his. 
name) was in New York ; an’ so the Kunnle gits me ter go on 
fur him ; an’ cuss me ef I did n’t ketch him easy. The other 
three niggers air a lot the Kunnle’s agent in St. Louis bowt fur 
him last week.” 

“ How did you dodge the Abolitionists in New York ? ” in- 
quired Vance. “ You went before the United States Commis- 
sioner, I suppose, and proved your claim to the article.” 

“ Damned ef I did ! Arter I ’d kotched Peek, he said, ef as 
how I ’d let him go home, an’ settle up, he ’d return, so help him 
Gawd, an’ give hisself up without no fuss or trial. Wall, I ’m a 
judge of niggers, — kn see right through ’em, — kn ollerz tell 
whan a nigger ’s lying. I seed Peek was in airnest, and so I 
let him go ; and may I be shot but he cum back jest at the 
hour he said he would.” 

“ Very extraordinary ! ” said Vance, musingly. “ You must 
be a great judge of character, Colonel Hyde.” 

“ Wall, what ’s extrordinerer still,” continued the Colonel, “ is 
this : Peek wanted money ter send ter his wife, and cuss me ef 
he did n’t offer ter go the hull way ter Cincinnati without no 
officers ter guard him, ef I ’d give him twenty-five dollars. In 
coorse I done it, seein’ as how I saved fifty dollars by the oper- 
ation. The minute he got on board this ’ere boat I hahd him 
han’cuffed, fur I knowed his promise wah n’t good no longer, 
anyhow.” 

“Colonel, what’s your address?” asked Mr. Vance. “If 


GROUPS ON THE DECK. 


91 


evei I lose a nigger, you ’re the man I must send for to help me 
find him.” 

The Colonel drew forth from his vest pocket a dirty card, 
and presented it to Mr. Vance. It contained these words: 
“ Colonel Delaney Hyde, Agent for the Recovery of Escaped 
Slaves. Address him, care of J. Breckenridge, St. Louis ; Her- 
min & Co., New Orleans.” 

“ Shall be proud to do yer business, Mr. Vance,” said the 
Colonel. 

“ I must have a talk with that handcuffed fellow of yours by 
and by,” remarked Vance. 

“ Do ! ” returned the Colonel. “ Yer ’ll find him a right 
knowin’ nigger. He kn read an’ write, an’ that air ’s more ’n 
we kn say of some white folks in our part of the kintry.” 

“ Do the owners hereabouts lose many slaves now-a-days ? ” 

“ Not sence old Gashface was killed last autumn.” 

“ Who ’s Gashface ? Is it a real name ? ” asked Vance. 

“ Nobody ever knowed his raal name,” returned the Colonel ; 
“ an’ so we called him Gashface, seein’ as he ’d a bad gash over 
his left cheek. He was a half mulatto, with woolly hair, an’ so 
short-sighted he weared specs. Wall, that bloody cuss hahz 
run off more niggers nor all the abolitioners in the Northwest, 
— damned ef he haint ! Two millions of dollars would n’t pay 
fur all the slaves he ’s helped across the line. He guv his hull 
time ter the work, an’ was crazy mad on that one pint. Last 
yar the planters clubbed together an’ made up a pus of five 
thousand dollars fur the man that ’ud shoot the cuss. Two 
gemmlemen from Vicksburg went inter the job, treed him, shot 
him dead, an’ tuk the five thousand dollars. An almighty 
good day’s work ! ” * 

“ How did the planters know they had got the right man ? ” 
asked Vance. 

“ Wall, there wahn’t much doubt about that, yer see,” said 
the Colonel. “ Them as shot him war’ high-tone gemmlemen, 

* It afterwards appeared that the Vicksburg “ gentlemen,” impatient at 
their want of success, selected a man who came nearest to the description of 
Gashface, shot him, and then marked his body in a way to satisfy the ex- 
pectations of those who had formed an imaginative idea of the personal pecu- 
liarities that would identify the celebrated liberator, so long the terror of 
masters on the Mississippi. 


92 


PECULIAR. 


both on ’em, an’ knowed the cuss well. So did I, an’ they 
paid me a cool hunderd, — damned if they, did n’t ! — to come 
on an’ swar ter the body.” 

“ Let ’s go and have a talk with your smart nigger,” inter- 
rupted Yance. 

“ Agreed ! ” replied the Colonel with an oath ; and the two 
descended a short ladder, and stood on the lower deck in front 
of Peek, who was leaning against a green sliding box of stones, 
used for keeping the boat rightly trimmed. 

“Wake up here, Peek,” said Hyde, kicking him not very 
gently; “ here’s my friend, Mr. Vance, come ter see yer.” 

The slave started, and his eyes had a lurid glitter as they 
turned on Hyde ; but they opened with a wild and pleased sur- 
prise as they caught the quick, intelligible glance of Yance, 
whose right hand was pointing to an inner pocket of his coat. 
The change of expression in the slave was, however, too subtle 
and evanescent for any one except Yance himself to recognize 
it; and he was not moved by it to take other notice of the 
negro than to imitate the Colonel’s example by pushing Peek 
with his foot, at the same time saying, “ I wish I had you on a 
sugar-plantation down in Louisiana, my fine fellow ! I ’d teach 
you to run away ! You would n’t try it more than once, I ’m 
thinking.” 

“ Look he-ah, stranger,” exclaimed Peek, rising to his feet, 
with a look of savage irritation, and clenching his fists, in spite 
of the irons on his wrists, “ you jes’ put yer foot on me agin, 
and I ’ll come at yer, shoo-ar ! ” 

“ You ’ll do that, will you,” said Vance, laying both hands 
on the slave’s throat, shaking him, and muttering words audible 
to him only. 

Peek, seeming to struggle, thrust his fettered hands into the 
bosom of his antagonist, as if to knock him down ; but Yance 
pushed him up against the bulwarks of the boat, and held him 
there, with his grasp on his throat, till the slave begged humbly 
for mercy. Yance then let him go, and turning to Colonel 
Hyde, with perfect coolness, said, “ That ’s the way to let a 
nigger know you ’re master.” To which the Colonel, unable to 
repress his admiration, replied : “ I see as how yer understand 
’em, from hide to innards, clar’ through. A nigger ’s a nigger, 
all the world over. Now let ’s liquor.” 


GROUPS ON THE DECK. 


93 


They went to the bar, around which a motley group of 
smokers and drinkers were standing. The bar-keeper was a 
black man, and between him and Vance there passed a flash of 
intelligence. 

“ What shall it be, Mr. Vance ? ” asked the Colonel. 

“ Gin for me,” was the reply. 

“Make me a whiskey nose-tickler,” said the Colonel, who 
seemed to be not unfamiliar with the fancy nomenclature of the 
bar-room. 

The bar-keeper, with that nimbleness and dexterity which 
high art alone could have inspired, compounded a preparation 
of whiskey, lemon, and sugar with bitters, crushed ice, and a 
sprig of mint, and handed it to the Colonel, at the same time 
placing a decanter labelled “ Gin ” before Vance. The latter 
poured out two thirds of a tumbler of what seemed to be the 
raw spirit, and, adding neither water nor sugar, touched glasses 
w r ith the Colonel, and swallowed it off as if it had been a 
spoonful of eau sucre. So overpowered with admiration at the 
feat was the Colonel, that he paused a full quarter of a minute 
before doing entire justice to the “nose-tickler” which had 
been brewed for him. 

Some of the loungers now drew round the Colonel, and 
asked him to join them in a game of euchre. He looked 
inquiringly at Vance, and the latter said, “ Go and play, 
Colonel ; I ’ll rejoin you by and by.” Then, in a confidential 
whisper, he added, “ I must find out about that yellow girl, — 
whether she ’s for sale.” 

The Colonel winked, and answered, “ All right, ” and Vance 
walked away. 

“ Who ’s that ? ” asked Mr. Leonidas Quattles, a long-haired, 
swarthy youth, who looked as if he might be half Indian. 

“That’s Mr. Vance of Noo Orleenz,” replied the Colonel; 
“ he ’s my partik’lar friend, an’ a perfek high-tone gemmleman, 
I don’t car’ whar’ the other is.” 

“ How stands the Champion now ? ” said another of the 
party. 

“ Three miles astern, and thar she ’ll stick,” exclaimed Quat- 
tles. 

As Vance reascended to the upper deck, he encountered the 


94 


PECULIAR. 


children at play. Little Clara Berwick, in high glee, was run- 
ning as fast as her infantile feet could carry her, pursued by 
Master Onslow, while Hattie, the mulatto woman in attend- 
ance, held out the child’s bonnet, and begged her to come and 
have it on. But Clara, with her light-brown ringlets flying on 
the breeze, was bent on trying her speed, and the boy, fearful 
that she would fall, was trying to arrest her. Before he could 
do this, his fears were realized. Clara tripped and fell, strik- 
ing her forehead. Vance caught her up, and her parents, with 
Mr. Onslow and Hattie, gathered round her, while the boy 
looked on in speechless distress. 

The little girl was so stunned by the blow, that for nearly a 
minute she could neither cry nor speak. Then opening her 
eyes on Mr. Vance, who, seating himself, held her in his lap, 
she began to grieve in a low, subdued whimper. 

“ The dear little creature ! How she tries to restrain her 
tears ! ” said Vance. “ Cry, darling, cry ! ” he added, while the 
moisture began to suffuse his own eyes. 

Then, taking from his pocket a small morocco case, he said 
..o Mrs. Berwick, “ I have some diluted arnica here, madam, 
the best lotion in the world for a bruise. With your permission 
I will apply it” 

“ Do so,” said the mother. “ I know the remedy.” 

And, pulling from a side pocket of his coat a fresh handker- 
chief of the finest linen, he wet it with the liquid, and applied 
it tenderly to the bruise, all the while engaging the child’s at- 
tention with prattle suited to her comprehension, and telling 
her what a brave good little girl she was. 

“ What is your name ? ” he asked. 

She tried to utter it, but, failing to make herself understood, 
the mother helped her to say, “ Clara Aylesford Berwick.” 

“ Aylesford ! ” said Vance, thoughtfully. Then, gazing in the 
child’s face, he rejoined : “ How strange ! Her eyes are dis- 
similar. One is a decided gray, the other a blue.” 

“ Yes,” said Berwick ; “ she gets the handsome eye from me ; 
the other from her mamma.” 

“ Conceited man ! cease your trifling ! ” interposed the lady. 

Vance picked up from the deck a little sleeve-button of 
gold and coral. * It had been dropped in the child’s fall. 


GROUPS ON THE DECK. 


95 

“ This must belong to Miss Clara,” said Vance, “ for it bears 
the initials C. A. B.” 

The mother took it and fixed it in the little dimity pelisse 
which the child wore. 

Hattie now offered to receive Miss Clara from Vance’s arms ; 
but, with an utterance and gesture of remonstrance, the child 
signified she did not choose to be parted without a kiss ; so he 
bent down and kissed her, while she threw her little arms about 
his neck. Then seeing the boy, who felt like a culprit for 
chasing her, she called him to her and gave him absolution by 
the same token. Thanking Vance for his service, Mr. Ber 
wick walked away with Leonora. 

“ That ’s a noble boy of yours, sir,” said Vance, addressing 
himself to Mr. Onslow. 

All the father’s displeasure vanished with the compliment, 
and he replied, “ Yes, Robert is a noble boy ; that ’s the true 
word for him.” 

“I fear,” resumed Vance, “ I gave you some cause just now 
to form a bad opinion of me because of my conduct to one of 
the waiters.” 

“ To be frank,” replied Onslow, “ I did feel surprise that you 
should take not only the strong side, but the wrong one.” 

“ Mr. Onslow, did you ever read Parnell’s poem of the ‘ Her- 
mit ’ ? ” 

“ Yes, it was one of the favorites of my youth.” 

u And do you remember how many things seemed wrong to 
the hermit that he afterwards found to be right?” 

“I perceive the drift of your allusion, sir,” returned Ons- 
low; “but ’I am puzzled, nevertheless.” 

u Perhaps one of these days you will be enlightened.” Then, 
changing the subject, Vance remarked, “ How do you succeed 
in Texas in your attempt to substitute free labor, for that of 
slaves ? ” 

“ My success has been all I could have hoped ; but the more 
successful I am, the more imminent is my failure.” 

“ Why so ? That sounds like a paradox.” 

“The rich slave-owners look with fear and dislike on my 
experiment.” 

“ What else could you expect, Mr. Onslow ? Take a case, 


96 


PECULIAR. 


publicly vouched for as true. Not long since a New York capi- 
talist purchased mineral lands in Virginia, with a view to work- 
ing them. He went on the ground and hired some of the white 
inhabitants of the neighborhood as laborers. All promised 
well, when lo ! a committee of slaveholders, headed by one 
Jenkins,* waited on him, and told him he must discharge his 
hands and hire slaves. The white laborers offered to work at 
reduced wages rather than give up their employment, but they 
were overawed, and their employer was compelled by the slave 
despots to abandon his undertaking and return to a State where 
white laborers have rights.” 

“ And yet,” said Onslow, “ there are politicians who try to 
persuade the people that the enslaving of a black man removes 
him from competition with white labor ; whereas the direct 
effect of slavery is to give to slaveholders the monopoly and 
control of the most desirable kinds of labor, and to enable them 
to degrade and impoverish the white laboring man ! ” 

Here the furious ringing of a bell called the gentlemen to 
dinner. 


* Afterwards the notorious proslavery guerilla leader in Virginia. 


MR. ONSLOW SPEAKS HIS MIND. 


97 


CHAPTER XI 


MR. ONSLOW SPEAKS HIS MIND. 


“ How faint through din of merchandise 
And count of gain 

Has seemed to us the captive’s cries ! 
How far away the tears and sighs 
Of souls in pain ! ” 


Whittier. 



N opportunity for resuming the conversation did not occur 


A till long after sundown, and when many of the passengers 
were retiring to bed. 

“ I have heard, Mr. Onslow,” said Yance, “ that since your 
removal to Texas you have liberated your slaves.” 

“ You have been rightly informed,” replied Onslow. 

“And how did they succeed as freedmen?” 

“ Two thirds of them poorly, the remaining third well.” 

“ Does not such a fact rather bear against emancipation, and 
in favor of slavery?” 

“ Quite the contrary. I am aware that the enthusiastic Mr. 
Ruskin maintains that slavery is ‘ not a political institution at 
all, but an inherent, natural, and eternal inheritance of a large 
portion of the human race.’ But as his theory would involve 
the enslaving of white men as well as black, I think we may 
dismiss it as the sportive extravagance of one better qualified 
to dogmatize than argue.” 

“ But is he not right in the application of his theory to the 
black race ? ” 

“ Far from it. Look at the white men you and I knew some 
twenty-five years ago. How many of them have turned out 
sots, gluttons, thieves, incapables ! Shall the thrifty and wise, 
therefore, enslave the imprudent and foolish ? Assuredly not, 
whatever such clever men as Mr. Ruskin and Mr. Thomas 
Carlyle may say in extenuation of such a proceeding.” 

“ Do not escaped or emancipated negroes often voluntarily 
return to slavery?” 


5 


o 


98 


PECULIAR. 


u Not often, but occasionally ; and so occasionally a white 
man commits an offence in order that he may be put in the pen- 
itentiary. A poor negro is emancipated or escapes. He goes 
to Philadelphia or New York, and has a hard time getting his 
grub. In a year or two he drifts back to his old master’s plan- 
tation, anxious to be received again by one who can insure to 
him his rations of mush ; and so he declares there ’s no place 
like ‘ old Virginny for a nigger.’ Then what paeans go up in be- 
half of the patriarchal system ! What a conclusive argument 
this that ‘ niggers will be niggers,’ and that slavery is right and 
holy ! Slave-drivers catch at the instance to stiffen up their 
consciences, and to stifle that inner voice that is perpetually 
telling them (in spite of the assurances of bishops, clergymen, 
and literary dilettanti to the contrary) that slavery is a viola- 
tion of justice and of that law of God written on the heart 
and formulized by Christ, that we must do unto others as we 
would have them do unto us, and that therefore liberty is the 
God-given right of every innocent and able-minded man. In- 
stances like that I have supposed, instead of being a palliation 
of slavery, are to my mind new evidences of its utter sinful- 
ness. A system that can so degrade humanity as to make 
a man covet repression or extinction for his manhood must 
be devilish indeed.” 

“ But, Mr. Onslow, do not statistics prove ‘that the blacks 
increase and multiply much more in a state of slavery than 
in any other ? Is not that a proof they are well treated and 
happy ? ” 

“ That is the most hideous argument yet in favor of the sys- 
tem. In slavery women are stimulated by the beastly ambition 
of contending which shall bear ‘ the most little nigs for massa ’ ! 
Among these poor creatures the diseases consequent upon too 
frequent child-bearing are dreadfully prevalent. Surely the 
welfare of a people must be measured, not by the mere amount 
of animal contentment or of rapid breeding with which they 
can be credited, but by the sum of manly acting and thinking 
they can show. A whole race of human beings is not created 
merely to eat mush, hoe in cotton-fields, and procreate slaves. 
The example of one such escaped slave as Frederick Douglas 
shows that the blacks are capable of as high a civilization as 
the whites” 


MR. ONSLOW SPEAKS HIS MIND. 


99 


“ Bo they not seem to you rather feeble in the moral 
faculty ? ” 

“No more feeble than any race would be, treated as they 
have been. The other day there fell into my hands a volume 
of sermons for pious slaveholders to preach to their slaves. It 
is from the pen of the excellent Bishop Meade of Virginia. 
The Bishop says to poor Cuffee : ‘ Your bodies, you know, are 
not your own ; they are at the disposal of those you belong to ; 
but your precious souls are still your own. 1 "VVhat impious 
cajolery is this ? The master has an unlimited, irresponsible 
power over the slave, from childhood up, — can force him to act 
as he wills, however conscience may protest ! The slave may 
be compelled to commit crimes or to reconcile himself to wrongs, 
familiarity with which may render his soul, like his body, the 
mere unreasoning, impassive tool of his master. And yet a 
bishop is found to try to cozen Cuffee out of the little common 
sense slavery may have left him, by telling him he is responsi- 
ble for that soul, which may be stunted, soiled, perverted in 
any way avarice or power may choose.” 

“ Well, Mr. Onslow, will you deny that slavery has an en- 
nobling effect in educating a chivalrous, brave, hospitable aris- 
tocracy of whites, untainted by those meannesses which are 
engendered by the greed of gain in trading communities ? ” 

“ I will not deny,” replied Onslow, “ that the habit of irre- 
sponsible command may develop certain qualities, sometimes 
good, sometimes bad, in the slave-driver ; and so the exercise of 
the lash by the overseer may develop the extensor muscles of 
the arm ; but the evils to the whites from slavery far, far out- 
balance the benefits. First, there are the five millions of mean, 
non-slaveliolding whites. These the system has reduced to a 
condition below that of the slave himself, in many cases. 
Slavery becomes at once their curse and their infatuation. It 
fascinates while it crushes them ; it drugs and stupefies while 
it robs and degrades.” 

“ But may we not claim advantages from the system for the 
few, — for the upper three hundred thousand?” 

“ That depends on what you may esteem advantages. Can 
an injustice be an advantage to the perpetrator? The man 
who betrays a moneyed trust, and removes to Europe with his 


100 


PECULIAR. 


family, may in one sense derive an advantage from the opera- 
tion. He may procure the means of educating and amusing 
himself and his children. So the slaveholder, by depriving 
other men of their inherent rights, may get the means of bene- 
fiting himself and those he cares for. But if he is content with 
such advantages, it must be because of a torpid, uneducated, or 
perverted conscience. Patrick Henry was right when he said, 

‘ Slavery is inconsistent with the religion of Christ.’ O’Connell 
was right when he declared, ‘ No constitutional law can create 
or sanction slavery.’ I have often thought that Mississippians 
would never haye been reconciled to that stupendous public 
swindle, politely called repudiation, if slavery had not first pre- 
pared their minds for it by the robbery of labor. And yet we 
have men like Jefferson Davis,* who not only palliate, but ap- 
prove the cheat. O the atrocity ! O the shame ! With what 
face can a repudiating community punish thieves ? ” 

“ Shall we not,” asked Vance, “ at least grant the slaveholder 
the one quality he so anxiously claims, — that which he expresses 
in the word chivalry ? ” 

Mr. Onslow shrugged his shoulders, and replied : “ Put be- 
fore the chivalrous slaveholder a poor fanatic of an Abolitionist, 
caught in the act of tampering with slaves, and then ask this 
representative of the chivalry to be magnanimous. No ! the 
mean instincts of what he deems self-interest will make him a 
fiend in cruelty. He looks upon the Abolitionist very much as 
a gunpowder manufacturer would look upon the wandering 
Celt who should approach his establishment with a lighted pipe 
in his mouth ; and he cheerfully sees the culprit handed over to 
the tender mercies of a mob of ignorant white barbarians.” 

“ Do you, then, deny that slavery develops any high quali- 
ties in the master?” 

“ And if it did, what right have I to develop my high quali- 
ties at another’s expense ? Yes ! Jefferson is right when he 
says : ‘ The whole commerce between master and slave is a 
perpetual exercise of the most boisterous passions ; the most un- 
remitting despotism on the one part and degrading submissions 

* The dishonesty of Mr. John Slidell’s attempt to expunge from Davis’a 
history the reproach of repudiation is thoroughly and irrefutably exposed by 
Mr. Robert J. Walker in the Continental Monthly, 1863. 


MR. ONSLOW SPEARS HIS MIND. 


101 


on the other. The man must be a prodigy who can retain his 
manners and his morals undepraved by such circumstances.’ ” 

Mr. Onslow paced the deck for a moment, and then, return- 
ing, exclaimed : “ O the unspeakable crimes, barbarities, and 
deviltries to which the system has educated men here at the 
South during the last thirty years ! Educated not merely the 
poor and ignorant, but the rich and refined ! The North knows 
hardly a tithe of the actual horrors. Worse than the wildest 
religious fanaticism, slavery sees men tortured, hung, muti- 
lated, subjected to every conceivable indignity, cruelty, agony, 
simply because the victim is unsound, or suspected to be un- 
sound, on the one supreme question. I myself have been often 
threatened, and sometimes the presentiment is strong upon me 
that my end will be a bloody one. I should not long be safe, 
were it not that in our region there are brave men who, like 
me, begin to question the divinity of the obscene old hag.” 

Mr. Onslow again walked away, and then, coming close up 
to Vance, said in low tones: “But retribution must come, — as 
sure as God lives, retribution must come, and that speedily! 
Slavery must die, in order that Freedom and Civilization may 
live. I see it in all the signs of the times, in all the straws 
that drift by me on the current of events. Retribution must 
come, — come with bloodshed, anguish, and desolation to both 
North and South, — to Slavery, with spasms of diabolical 
cruelty, violence, and unholy wrath, and to Freedom with 
trials long and doubtful, but awaking the persistent energy 
which a righteous cause will inspire, and leading ultimately to 
permanent triumph and to the annihilation on this continent of 
the foul power which has ruled us so long, and which shall 
dare to close in deadly combat with the young genius of uni- 
versal Liberty.” 

Vance grasped Onslow by the hand, but seemed too excited 
to speak. Then, as if half ashamed of his emotion, he said, 
“ Will there be men at the South, think you, to array them- 
selves on the side of freedom, in the event of a collision ? ” 

“ There will be such men, but, until the slave-power shall be 
annihilated forever, they will be a helpless minority. A few 
rich leaders control the masses which Slavery has herself first 
imbruted. Crush out slavery, and there will be regenerators 


102 


PECULIAR. 


of the land who will spring up by thousands to welcome their 
brethren of the North, whose interests, like theirs, lie in uni- 
versal freedom and justice.” 

“ You do not, then, believe those who tell us there is an eter- 
nal incompatibility between the people of the slaveholding and 
non-slaveholding States ? ” 

“ Bah ! These exaggerations, the rhetoric of feeble spirits, 
and the logic of false, are stuff and rubbish to any true student 
of human nature. There is no incompatibility between North 
and South, except what slavery engenders and strives to inten- 
sify. Strike away slavery, and the people gravitate to each 
other by laws higher than the bad passions of your Rhetts, 
Yanceys, and Maurys. The small-beer orators and forcible- 
feeble writers of the South, who are eternally raving about 
the mean, low-born Yankees, and laboring to excite alienation 
and prejudice, are merely the tools of a few plotting oligarchs 
who hope to be the chiefs of a Southern Confederacy.” 

“ And must civil war necessarily follow from a separation ? ” 

“ As surely as thunder follows from the lightning-rent ! 
Yes, Webster is undoubtedly rigfefc: there can be no such thing 
as peaceable secession, and I rejoice that there cannot be.” 

“ But would not a civil war render inevitable that alienation 
which these Richmond scribblers are trying to antedate ? ” 

“ No. Enmity would be kept up long enough for the slave- 
power to be scotched and killed, and then the people of both 
sections would see that there was nothing to keep them apart, 
that their interests are identical. The true people of the 
South would soon realize that the three hundred thousand 
slaveholders are even more their enemies than enemies of the 
North. A reaction against our upstart aristocracy (an aristoc- 
racy resting on tobacco-casks and cotton-bales) would ensue, 
and the South would be republicanized, — a consummation 
which slavery has thus far prevented. South Carolina was 
Tory in the Revolution, just as she is now. Abolish slavery, and 
we should be United States in fact as well as in name. Abol- 
ish slavery, and you abolish sectionalism with it* Abolish 
slavery, and you let the masses North and South see that their 
welfare lies in the preservation of the republic, one and indi- 
visible.” 


MR. ONSLOW SPEAKS HIS MIND. 


103 


* c And do you anticipate civil war ? ” 

“ Yes, such a civil war as the world has never witnessed.* 
The devil of slavery must go out of us, and as it is the worst 
of all the devils that ever afflicted mankind, it can go out only 
through unprecedented convulsions and tearings and agonies. 
The North must suffer as well as the South, for the North 
shares in the guilt of slavery, and there are thousands of men 
there who shut their eyes to its enormities. Believe me, there 
are high spiritual laws underlying national offences ; and the 
Nemesis that must punish ours is near at hand. Slavery must 
be destroyed, and war is the only instrumentality that I can 
conceive of energetic enough to do it. Through war, then, 
must slavery be destroyed.” 

“ And I care not how soon ! ” said Yance. Then, lowering 
his tone, he remarked : “ Have you not been imprudent in con- 
fiding your views to a stranger, who could have you lynched at 
the next landing-place by reporting them ? ” 

“ Perhaps. But I bide the risk ; you have not been so 
shrewd an actor, sir, that I have not seen behind the mask.” 

Yance started at the word actor , then said, looking up at the 
stars : “ What a beautiful night ! Does not the Champion seem 
to be gaining on us ? ” 

“ I have been thinking so for some minutes,” replied Onslow. 

“ Good night, Mr. Excuse me. I have n’t the pleasure 

of knowing your name.” 

“ And yet we have met before, Mr. Onslow, and under cir- 
cumstances that ought to make me remembered.” 

“ To what do you allude ? ” 

“ I was once brought before you for horse-stealing, and, what 
is more, you found me guilty of the charge, and rightly.” 

“ Then my recollection was not at fault, after all ! ” exclaimed 
Onslow, astonished. “ But were you indeed guilty ? ” 

“I certainly took a horse, but it was a case of necessity. 
A friend of mine, a colored man, in defence of his liberty, had 
wounded his master, so called, and was flying for life. To 
save him robbed the robber, — took his horse and gave it to 
his victim, enabling the latter to get off safely. The fact of 

* This prediction was merely one among many hundred such which every 
reader of newspapers will remember. 


104 


PECULIAR. 


my taking the horse was clearly proved, but my motive was not 
discovered. If it had been, Judge Lynch would surely have 
relieved you of the care of me. You, as justice of the peace, 
remanded me to prison for trial. That night I escaped. In 
an outer room of the jail I found a knife and half of a slaugh- 
tered calf. The knife I put in my pocket. The carcass I 
threw over my shoulder, and ran. In the morning I found five 
valuable bloodhounds on my track. I climbed a tree, and when 
they came under it, I fed them till they were all tame, and 
allowed me to descend ; and then I cut their throats, lest they 
should be used to hunt down fugitives from slavery. Two days 
afterwards I was safe on board a steamboat, on my way North.” 

“ Who, then, are you, sir ? ” asked Onslow. 

Yance whispered a word in reply. 

Mr. Onslow seemed agitated for a moment, and then ex- 
claimed, “ But I thought he was dead ! ” 

“ The report originated with those who took the reward 
offered for his head. Mr. Onslow, I have repaid your frank- 
ness with a similar frankness of my own. To-morrow morning, 
at ten o’clock, meet me here, and you shall hear more of my 
story. Good night.” 

The gentlemen parted, each retiring to his state-room for 
repose. 


o 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


105 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


“ Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, 

Tears from the depth of some divine despair, 

Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, 

In looking on the happy autumn-fields 
And thinking of the days that are no more.” 

Tennyson. 

B ALMY, bright, and beautiful broke the succeeding morn- 
ing. Every passenger as he came on deck looked astern 
to see what had become of the Champion. She still kept her 
usual distance, dogging the Pontiac with the persistency of a 
fate. Captain Crane said nothing, but it was noticeable that 
he puffed away at his cigar with increased vigor. 

Mr. Vance encountered the Berwicks once more on the hur- 
ricane deck and interchanged greetings. Little Clara recog- 
nized her friend of the day before, and, jumping from Hattie’s 
lap, ran and pulled his coat, looking up in his face, and pouting 
her lips for a kiss. 

“ I fancy I see two marked traits in your little girl, already,” 
said Vance to the mother, after he had saluted the child ; “ she 
is strong in the affections, and has a will-power that shows 
itself in self-control.” 

“ You are right,” replied the mother ; “ I have known her 
to bite her lips till the blood came, in her effort to keep from 
crying.” 

“ Such is her individuality,” continued Vance. “ I doubt if 
circumstances of education could do much to misshape her 
moral being.” 

« Ah ! that is a fearful consideration,” said the lady ; “ we 
cannot say how far the best of us would have been perverted 
if our earjy training had been unpropitious.” 

“I knew your father, Mrs. Berwick. He found me, a stranger 
stricken down by fever, forsaken and untended, in a miserable 
shanty called a tavern, in Southern Illinois, in the sickly sea- 


106 


PECULIAR. 


son. He devoted himself to me till I was convalescent. I 
shall never forget his kindness. Will you allow me to look at 
that little seal on your watch-chain ? It ought to bear the fet- 
ters ‘ W. C. to R. A.’ Thank you. Yes, there they are ! I 
sent him the seal as a memento. The cutting is my own.” 

“ I shall regard it with a new interest,” said Mrs. Berwick, 
as she took it back. 

Mr. Onslow here appeared and bade the party good morning. 

“ I feel that I am among friends,” said Vance. “ I last night 
promised Mr. Onslow a story. Did you ever hear of the re- 
doubtable Gashface, Mr. Berwick?” 

“ Yes, and I warn you, sir, that I am quite enough of an 
Abolitionist to hold his memory in a sort of respect.” 

“ Bold words to utter on, the Southern Mississippi ! But do 
not be under concern : I myself am Gashface. Yes. The 
report of his being killed is a lie. Are you in a mood to hear 
his story, Mrs. Berwick?” 

“ I shall esteem it a privilege, sir.” 

“ The last time I told it was to your father. Be seated, aud 
try and be as patient as he was in listening.” 

The party arranged themselves in chairs ; and Mr. Vance 
was about to take up his parable, when the figure of Colonel 
Delaney Hyde was seen emerging from the stairs leading from 
the lower deck. 

“ Hah ! Mr. Vance, I ’m yourn,” exclaimed the Colonel, with 
effusion. “ Been lookin’ fur yer all over the boat. Introduce 
yer friends ter me.” 

Vance took from his pocket the Colonel’s card, and read 
aloud the contents of it. 

“From Virginia, ma’am,” supplemented the Colonel, who 
was already redolent of Bourbon ; u the name of Delaney 
Hyde hahz been in the family more ’n five hunderd yarz. 
Fak, ma’am ! My father owned more slaves nor he could count. 
Ef it hahd n’t been fur a damned Yankee judge, we sh’d hahv 
held more land nor you could ride over in a day. Them low- 
born Yankees, ma’am, air jes’ fit to fetch an’ carry for us as air 
the master race ; to larn our childern thar letters an’ make our 
shoes, as the Greeks done fur the Romans, ma’am. Ever read 
the Richmond newspapers, ma’am? John Randolph wunst 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


107 


said he ’d go out of his way to kick a sheep. I ’d go out of 
my way, ma’am, to kick a Yankee.” 

“ If you ’re disposed to listen to a story, Colonel,” said 
Vance, “ take a chair.” And he pointed to one the furthest 
from Mrs. Berwick. “ I am about to read an autobiography of 
the fellow Gashface, of whom you have heard.” 

And Vance drew from his pocket a small visiting card 
crowded close with stenographic characters in manuscript. 

“ An’ that ’s an auter — what d’ yer call it, — is it ? ” asked 
the* Colonel. “ Cur’ous ! ” 

The Colonel reinforced himself with a plug of tobacco, and 
Vance began to recite what he called, for the occasion, “ The 
Autobiography of Gashface.” But we prefer to name it 

(£l)e Storp of (Estelle. 

I was born in New Orleans, and am the son of William 
Carteret. He was a Virginian by birth, the younger son of a 
planter, whose forefather, a poor Yorkshire gentleman, came 
over from England with Sir Thomas Dale in the year 1611. 
You might think me false to my father’s native State if I did 
not vindicate my claim to a descent from one of the first Vir- 
ginia families. You must be aware that all the gentle blood 
that flowed from Europe to this continent sought Virginia as its 
congenial reservoir. It would be difficult to find a low-born 
white man in the whole eastern section of the State. 

[“ That ’s a fak ! ” interposed the Colonel.] 

My grandfather died in 1820, leaving all his property to his 
eldest son, Albert. (Virginia then had her laws of primogeni- 
ture.) Albert generously offered to provide for my father, but 
the latter, finding that Albert could not do this without reducing 
the provision for his sisters, resolved to seek fortune at the 
North. He went to New York, where he studied medicine. 
But here he encountered Miss Peyton, a beautiful girl from 
Virginia, nobly supporting herself by giving instruction in 
music. He married her, and they consoled themselves for 
their poverty by their fidelity and devotion to each other. 
The loss of their first child, in consequence, as my father 
believed, of the unhealthy location of his house, induced him 
to make extraordinary efforts to earn money. 


108 


PECULIAR. 


After various fruitless attempts to establish himself in some 
lucrative employment, he made his debut , under an assumed 
name, at the Park Theatre, in the character of Douglas, in 
Home’s once famous tragedy of that name. My father’s choice 
of this part is suggestive of the moderate but respectable char- 
acter of his success. He played to the judicious few ; but their 
verdict in his favor was not sufficiently potent to make him a 
popular actor. He soon had to give up the high starring parts, 
and to content himself with playing the gentleman of comedies 
or the second part in tragedies. In this humbler line he gained 
a reputation which has not yet died out in theatrical circles. 
He could always command good engagements for the theatrical 
season in respectable stock-companies. He was fulfilling one 
of these engagements in New Orleans when I was born. 

A month afterwards he ended his career in a manner that 
sent a thrill through the public heart. He was one evening 
playing Othello for his own benefit. Grateful for a crowded 
house, he was putting forth his best powers, and with extraor- 
dinary success. Never had such plaudits greeted and inspired 
him. The property-man, whose duty it is to furnish all the ar- 
ticles needed by the actor, had given him at rehearsal a blunted 
dagger, so contrived with a spring that it seemed to pierce the 
breast when thrust against it. At night this false dagger was 
mislaid, and the property-man handed him a real one, omitting 
in the hurry of the moment to inform him of the change. In 
uttering the closing words of his part, — 

“ I took by the throat the circumci-sed dog, 

And smote him thus — 

my father inflicted upon himself, not a mimic, but a real stab, 
so forcible that he did not survive it ten minutes. 

Great was my mother’s anguish at her loss. She was not 
left utterly destitute. My father had not fallen into the beset- 
ting sins of the profession. He saw in it a way to competence, 
if he would but lead a pure and thrifty life. In the seven 
years he had been on the stage he had laid up seven thousand 
dollars. Pride would not let him allow my mother to labor 
for her support. But now she gladly accepted from the man- 
ager an offer of twenty-five dollars a week as “ walking lady.” 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


109 


On this sum she contrived for seventeen years to live decently 
and educate her son liberally. 

At last sickness obliged her to give up her theatrical engage- 
ment. She had invested her seven thousand dollars in bonds 
of the Planters’ Bank of Mississippi, to the redemption of which 
the faith of that State was pledged. The repudiation of the 
bonds by the State authorities, under the instigation of Mr. Jef- 
ferson Davis, deprived her of her last resource. Impoverished 
in means, broken in health, and unable to labor, she fell into a 
decline and died. 

The humane manager gave me a situation in his company. 
I became an actor, and for seven years played the part of sec- 
ond young gentleman in comedies and melodramas ; also such 
parts as Horatio in “ Hamlet ” or Macduff in “ Macbeth.” But 
my heart was not in my vocation. It had chagrins which I 
could not stomach. 

One evening I was playing the part of a lover. The drama- 
tis ‘persona of whom I was supposed to be enamored was rep- 
resented by Miss B , rather a showy, voluptuous figure, but 

whom I secretly disliked for qualities the reverse of those of 
Caesar’s wife. Instead of allowing my aversion to appear, I 
played with the appropriate ardor. In performing the “ busi- 
ness ” of the part, I was about to hiss her, when I heard a loud, 
solitary hiss from a person in an orchestra box. He was a 
man of a full face, very fair red-and-white complexion, and 
thick black whiskers, — precisely what a coarse feminine taste 
would call “a handsome fellow.” Folding my arms, I walked 
towards the foot-lights, and asked what he wanted. u None of 
your business, you damned stroller!” replied he; “I have a 
right to hiss, I suppose.” “ And I have a right to pronounce 
you a blackguard, I suppose,” returned I. The audience ap- 
plauded my rebuke, and laughed at the handsome man, who, 
with scarlet cheeks, rose and left the house. I learned he was 
a Mr. Ratcliff, a rich planter, and an admirer of Miss B . 

Soon after this adventure I quitted the profession, and for 
some time gave myself up to study. My tastes were rather 
musical than histrionic ; and having from boyhood been a pro- 
ficient on the piano-forte, I at last, when all my money was 
exhausted, offered my services to the public as a teacher. 


110 


PECULIAR. 


My first pupil was Henri Dufour, the only son of the widow 
of a French physician. It was soon agreed that, for the greater 
convenience of Henri, and in payment for his tuition, I should 
become a member of the family, which was small, consisting 
only of himself, his mother, Jane, a black slave, and Estelle, a 
white girl who occupied the position of a humble companion of 
the widow. 

[At this point in the narrative, Mr. Quattles appeared at the 
head of the stairs, and, with his forefinger placed on the side 
of his long nose, winked expressively at Colonel Hyde. The 
latter rose, and said, “ Sorry to go, Mr. Vance ; but the fak is, 
I ’m in fur a hahnd at euchre, an’ jest cum up ter see ef you ’d 
jine us.” 

“ You ’re too gallant a man, Colonel Delaney Hyde,” replied 
Vance, “ not to agree with me, when I say, Duty to ladies first.” 

“ Yer may bet yer pile on that, Mr. Vance ; the ladies fust 
ollerz ; but Madame will ’scuze me, I reckon. Hahd a high 
old time, ma’am, last night, an’ an almighty bahd streak of luck. 
Must make up fur it somehow.” 

u Business before pleasure, Colonel,” said Vance. “ We ’ll 
excuse you.” 

And the Colonel, with a lordly sw r eep of his arm, by way of 
a bow, joined his companion, Quattles, to whom he remarked, 
“ A high-tone Suthun gemmleman that, and one as does credit 
to his raisin’.” The companions having disappeared, Vance 
proceeded with his story.] 

Let me call up before you, if I can, the image of Estelle. 
In person about three inches shorter than I (and I am five feet 
six), slender, lithe, and willowy, yet compactly rounded, straight, 
and singularly graceful in every movement ; a neck and bust 
that might have served Powers for a model when the Greek 
Slave was taking form in his brain ; a head admirably propor- 
tioned to all these symmetries ; a face rather Grecian than Ro- 
man, and which always reminded me of that portrait of Beatrice 
Cenci by Guido, made so familiar to us through copies and en- 
gravings ; a portrait tragic as the fate of the original in its se- 
rene yet mournful expression. But Estelle’s hair differed from 
that of Beatrice in not being auburn, but of a rare and beauti- 
ful olive tint, almost like the bark of the laburnum-tree, and 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


Ill 


exquisitely fine and thick. In complexion she could not be 
called either a blonde or a brunette ; although her dark blue 
eyes seemed to attach her rather to the former classification. 
She was one of the few beautiful women I have seen, whoso 
beauty was not marred by a besetting self-consciousness of 
beauty, betrayed in every look and movement, and even in the 
tones of the voice. In respect to her personal charms Estelle 
was as unconscious as a moss-rose. 

Mrs. Dufour was an invalid, selfish, parsimonious, and exact- 
ing ; but Estelle, in devotion to that lady’s service and in adap- 
tation to her caprices, showed a patience and a tact so admira- 
ble that it was difficult to guess whether they were the result of 
sincere affection or of a simple sense of duty. 

Henri, my pupil in music, was a youth of sixteen, who inher- 
ited not only his mother’s morbid constitution, but her ungen- 
erous qualities of heart and temper. Arrogant and vain, he 
seemed to regard me in the light of a menial, and I could not 
find in him intellect enough to make him sensible of his folly. 

I spent my last twenty dollars in advertising ; but no new 
pupil appeared in answer to my insinuating appeal. My ward- 
robe begMi to get impaired ; my broadcloth to lose its nap, and 
my linen to give evidence of premeditated poverty. One day 
I marvelled at finding in my drawer a shirt completely reno- 
vated, with new wristbands, bosom, and collar. The next week 
the miracle was repeated. Had Mrs. Dufour opened her heart 
and her purse ? Impossible ! Had Jane, my washerwoman, 
slyly performed the service ? She honestly denied it. I pur- 
sued my investigations no further. 

The next Sunday, in putting on my best pantaloons, I found 
in the right pocket two gold quarter-eagles. Yes ! There 
could now be no doubt. I had misjudged Mrs. Dufour. Her 
stinginess was all a pretence. Touched with gratitude, yet hu- 
miliated, I went to return the gold. It was plain that Madame 
knew nothing about it. I looked at Estelle, who sat at a win- 
dow mending a muslin collar. 

“ Can you explain, Mademoiselle ? ” I asked. 

“ Explain what ? ” she inquired, as if she had been too ab- 
sorbed in hef own thoughts to hear a word of the conversation. 

“ Can you explain how those gold pieces came into u 
pocket?” 


112 


PECULIAR. 


Without the least sign, of guilt, she replied, “ I cannot ex- 
plain, sir.” 

Was she deceiving me ? I thought not. Though we had 
met twice a day at meals for weeks, her demeanor towards me 
had been always distant and reserved. 

It was my habit daily, after giving a morning lesson to my 
pupil, to walk a couple of hours on the Levee. One forenoon, 
on account of the heat of the weather, I returned home an hour 
earlier than usual. Henri and his mother were out riding. As 
I entered the house I heard the sound of the piano, and stopped 
in the hall to listen. It was Estelle at the instrument. 

I had left on the music-stand a rough score of my arrange- 
ment of that remarkable composition, then newly published in 
Europe, the music and words of which Colonel Pestal wrote 
with a link of his fetters on his prison-wall the day before his 
execution. I had translated the original song, and written it on 
the same page with the music. What was my astonishment to 
hear the whole piece, — this new De Profundis, this mortal cry 
from the depths of a proud, indignant heart, — a cry condensed 
by music into tones the most apt and fervid, — now reproduced 
by Estelle with such passionate power, such reality of emotion, 
that I was struck at once with admiration and with horror. 

They were not, then, for Pestal so much as for Estelle, — • 
those utterances of holy wrath and angelic defiance ! The 
words by themselves are simple, — commonplace, if you will.* 

* We subjoin one of the various translations: — 

“ Yes, it comes at last! 

And from a troubled dream awaking, 

Death will soon be past, 

And brighter day around me breaking ! 

Hark ! methinks I hear celestial voices say. 

Soon thou shalt be free, child of misery, — 

Rest and perfect joy in heaven are waiting thee; 

Spirit, plume thy wings and flee ! 

“Yes! the strife is o’er, 

With all its pangs, with all its sorrow; 

Hope shall droop no more, 

For heavenly day will dawn tb-morrow! 

Proud Oppression, vain thy utmost tyranny! 

Come and thou shalt see, I can smile at thee ! 

Mine shall be the triumph, mine the victory, — 

Death but sets the captive free! ” 


TEE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


113 


But, conveyed to the ear through Pestal’s music and Estelle’s 
voice, they seemed vivid with the very lightning of the soul. 
As she sang, the victim towered above the oppressor like an 
archangel above a fiend. The prison-walls fell outward, and 
the welcoming heavens opened to the triumphant captive. 

I entered the room. She turned suddenly. Her face had 
not yet recovered from the expression of those emotions which 
the song had called up. She rose with the air of an avenging 
goddess. . Then, seeing me, she drew up her clasped hands to 
her bosom with a gesture full of grace and eloquent with 
deprecation, and said, “ Forgive me if I have disturbed your 
papers.” 

“ Estelle ! ” I began. Then, seeing her look of surprise, I 
said, “ Excuse me if the address is too familiar ; but I know 
you by no other name.” 

“ Estelle is all sufficient,” she replied. 

“ Well, then, Estelle, you have moved me by your singing as 
I was never moved before, — so terribly in earnest did you 
seem ! What does it mean ? ” 

“ It means,” she replied, “ that you have adapted the music 
to a faithful translation of the words.” 

“ I have heard you play,” said I, “ but why have you kept 
me in ignorance of your powers as a singer ? ” 

“ My powers, such as they are,” she said, “ have been rarely 
used since I left the convent. I can give little time now 
to music. Indeed, the hour I have given to it this morning 
was stolen, and I must make up for it. So good by.” 

“ Stay, Estelle,” said I, seizing her hand. “ There is a mys- 
tery which hangs over you like a cloud. Tell me what it is. 
Your eyes look as if a storm of unshed tears were brooding 
behind them. Your expression is always sad. Can I in any 
way help you ? Can I render a true brother’s service ? ” 

She stood, looking me in the face, and it was plain, from a 
certain convulsed effort at deglutition, that she was striving to 
swallow back the big grief that heaved itself up from her heart. 
She wavered as if half inclined to reveal something. There 
was the noise of a carriage at the door ; and, pressing my hand 
gently, she said, with an effort at a smile that should have been 
a sob, “ Thank you ; you cannot — help me ; my mistress is 

H 


114 


PECULIAR. 


at the door ; good by.” And dropping my hand, she glided 
out of the room. 

I can never forget her as she then appeared in her virginal, 
spring-like beauty, with her profuse silky hair parted plainly 
in front, and folded in a classic knot behind, with her dress of 
a light gauze-like material, and an unworked muslin collar 
about her neck having a simple blue ribbon passing under it 
ind fastened in front with a little cross of gold. How unpre- 
tending and unadorned, — and yet what a charm was lent to her 
whole attire by her consummate grace of person and of action ! 

Mrs. Dufour entered, and I did not see Estelle again that 
day. 


It was that fearful summer when the fever seemed to be 
indiscriminate in its ravages. Not only transient visitors in 
the city, but old residents long acclimated, natives of the city, 
physicians and nurses, were smitten down. Many fled from 
the pest-ridden precincts. Whole blocks of houses were de- 
serted. There were few doors at which Death did not knock 
for one or more of the inmates. 

My pupil, Henri Dufour, was taken ill on a Saturday, and 
on Wednesday his mortal remains were conveyed to the ceme- 
tery. I had tended him day and night, and was much worn 
down by watchings and anxiety. Jane, a hired black domestic, 
was wanted by her owner, and left us. All the work of our 
diminished household now fell on Estelle. As for Madame 
Dufour, she lived in a hysterical fear lest the inevitable sum- 
moner should visit her next. She was continually imagining 
that the symptoms were upon her. One day she fell into an 
unusual state of alarm. I was alone with her in the house. 
Estelle had gone out without asking permission, — an extraor- 
dinary event. I did what I could for the invalid, and, by her 
direction, called in a physician whose carriage she had seen 
standing at a neighboring door. 

The poor little doctor seemed flurried and overworked, and 
an odor of brandy came from his breath. He assured Mrs. 
Dufour that her symptoms were wholly of the imagination, and 
that if she would keep tranquil, all danger would speedily pass. 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


115 


He administered a dose of laudanum. It afterwards occurred 
to me that he had given three times the usual quantity. He 
received his fee and departed; and I sat down behind the 
curtain of an alcove so as to be within call. 

Three minutes had not elapsed when Estelle burst into the 
room, and in a voice low and husky, as if with overpowering 
agitation, exclaimed : “You have deceived me, Madame ! Mr. 
Semmes tells me you never gave him any orders about a will. 
Do you mean to cheat me ? Beware ! Tell me this instant ! 
tell me ! Will you do it ? Will you do it ? ” 

“ Estelle ! how can you ? ” whined Mrs. Dufour. “ At such 
a time, when the slightest agitation may bring on the fever, 
how can you trouble me on such a subject? ” 

“ No evasion ! ” exclaimed Estelle, in imperious tones. “ I 
demand it, — I exact it, — now — this instant ! You shall — you 
shall perform it ! ” C 7 

Madame had some vague superstitious notion connected with 
the signing of a will, and she murmured : “ I shall do nothing at 
present; I’m not in a state to sign my name. The doctor 
said I must be tranquil. How can you be so selfish, Estelle ? 
Do you imagine I ’m going to die, that you are so urgent just 
now ? ” 

“ You told me three months ago,” replied Estelle, “ that the 
will had been regularly signed and witnessed. You lied ! If 
you now refuse to make amends, do not hope for peace either 
in this world or the next. No priest shall attend you here, and 
my curses shall pursue you down to hell to double the damna- 
tion your sin deserves ! Will you sign, if I bring the notary ? ” 
Mrs. Dufour began to moan, and complain of her symptoms, 
while I could hear Estelle pacing the room like a caged tigress. 
Suddenly she stood still, and cried, “ Do you still refuse ? ” 

The moaning of the invalid had been succeeded by a sterto- 
rous breathing, as if she had been suddenly overcome by sleep. 

“ She is stone, — stone ! She sleeps ! — she has no heart ! ” 
groaned Estelle. 

I now left the alcove. Estelle knelt weeping with her face 
on the sofa. I touched, her on the head, and she started up 
alarmed. She saw tears of sympathy on my cheek. I drew 
her away with my arm about her waist, and said, “ Come ! 
come and tell me all.” 


116 


PECULIAR. 


She let me lead her down-stairs into the parlor. I placed 
her in an arm-chair, and sat on a low ottoman at her feet. 
“ Tell me all, Estelle,” I repeated. “ What does it mean ? ” 

I then drew from her these facts. Her mother, though un- 
distinguishable from a white woman, had been a slave belong- 
ing to a Mr. Huger, a sugar-planter. She was reputed, to be 
the daughter of what the Creoles call a meamelouc , that is, the 
offspring of a white man and a metif mother, a metif being 
the offspring of a white and a quarteron. This account of the 
genealogy of Estelle’s mother I never had occasion to doubt 
till years afterwards. The father of Estelle was Albert Gran- 
deau, a young Parisian of good family. Being suddenly called 
home from Louisiana to France by the death of his parents, 
he left America, promising to return the following winter, and 
purchase the prospective mother of his child and take her to 
Paris. This he honestly intended to do ; but alas for good in- 
tentions! It is good deeds only that are secure against the 
caprices of Fate. The vessel in which Grandeau sailed foun- 
dered at sea, and he was among the lost. Estelle’s mother 
died in child-birth. 

And then Estelle, — on the well-known principle of Southern 
law, “ proles sequitur ventrem” — in spite of her fair complex- 
ion, was a slave. Mr. Huger dying, she fell to the portion of 
his unmarried daughter, Louise, who was a member of the 
newly established Convent of St. Vivia. She took Estelle, 
then a mere child, with her to bring up. Fortunately for Es- 
telle, there were highly accomplished ladies in the convent, to 
whom it was at once a delight and a duty to instruct the little 
girl. French, English, and Italian were soon all equally famil- 
iar to her, and before she was seventeen she surpassed, in 
needlework and music, even her teachers. But the convent 
of St. Vivia had been cheated in the title of its estate; and 
through failure of funds, it was at length broken up. Soon 
afterwards, Louise Huger, whose health had always been feeble, 
died suddenly, leaving Estelle to her sister, Mrs. Dufour, with 
the request that measures should be at once taken to secure 
the maiden’s freedom, in the contingency of Mrs. Dufour’s de- 
mise. It was the failure of the latter to take the proper steps 
for Estelle’s manumission that now roused her anger and 
anxiety. 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


117 


These disclosures on the part of Estelle awoke in me conflict- 
ing emotions. 

Shall I confess it? Such was the influence of education, of 
inherited prejudice, and of social proscription, that when she 
told me she was a slave, I shuddered as a high-caste Brahmin 
might when he finds that the man he has taken by the hand is 
a Pariah. Estelle was too keen of penetration not to detect it ; 
and she drew her robe away from my touch, and moved her 
chair back a little. 

My ancestors, with the exception of my father, had been 
slaveholders ever since 1625. I had lived all my life in a 
community where slavery was held a righteous and a necessary 
institution. I had never allowed myself to question its policy 
or its justice. Skepticism as to a God or a future state was 
venial, nay, rather fashionable; but woe to the youth who 
should play the Pyrrhonist in the matter of slavery ! 

Yet it was not fear, it was not self-interest, that made me 
acquiesce ; it was simply a failure to exercise my proper powers 
of thought. I took the word of others, — of interested parties, 
of social charlatans, of sordid, self-stultified fanatics, — that the 
system was the best possible one that could be conceived of, 
both for blacks aid whites. From the false social atmosphere 
in which I had grown up I had derived the accretions that went 
to build up and solidify my moral being. 

And so if St. Paul or Fenelon, Shakespeare or Newton, had 
come to me with ebonized faces, I should have refused them 
the privileges of an equal. To such folly are we shaped by 
what we passively receive from society ! To such outrages on 
justice and common sense are we reconciled simply by the 
inertness of our brains, not to speak of the hollowness of our 
hearts ! 

Estelle paused, and almost despaired, when she saw the effect 
upon me of her confession. But I pressed her to a conclusion 
of her story, and then asked, “ Who has any claim upon you, 
in the event of Madame Dufour’s dying intestate ? ” 

“ Nearly all her property,” replied Estelle, “is mortgaged to 
her nephew, Carberry Ratcliff, and he is her only heir.” 

“ Give me some account of him.” 

“ He is a South Carolinian by birth. Some years ago he 


118 


PECULIAR. 


married a Creole lady, by whom he got a fine cotton-plantation 
on the Red River, stocked with several hundred slaves. He 
has a house and garden in Lafayette, but lives most of the 
time on his plantation at Loraine.” 

“Have you ever seen him?” 

“ Yes ; the first time only ten days ago, and he has been 
here four times since to call on Madame Dufour, though he 
rarely used to visit her oftener than twice a year.” 

As Estelle spoke, her eyes flashed, and her breast heaved. 

“ How did he behave to you, Estelle ? ” 

“ How should the lord of a plantation behave to a comely 
female slave ? Of course he insulted me both with looks and 
words. What more could you expect of such a connoisseur in 
flesh and blood as the planter who recruits his gangs at slave- 
auctions ? Do not ask me how he behaved.” 

I rose, deeply agitated, and paced the room. 

“ What sort of a looking man is this Mr. Ratcliff? ” 

She went to ah etagere in a corner, opened a little box, and 
took from it a daguerrotype, which she placed in my hand. 

Looking at the likeness, I recognized. the man who once in- 
sulted me at the theatre. 

“ I must go and attend to Madame Dufour,” said Estelle. 

“ Let me accompany you,” said I. 

She made no objection. We went together into the chamber. 
Estelle rushed to the bedside, — shook the invalid, — called her 
aloud by name, — put her ear down to learn if she breathed, — 
put her hand on the breast to find if the heart beat, — then 
turned to me, and shrieked, “ She is dead ! ” 

What was to be done ? 

I led Estelle into the parlor. She sat down. Her face was 
of a frightful pallor; but there was not the trace of a tear 
in her eyes. The expression was that of blank, unmitigated 
despair. 

“ Poor, poor child ! ” I murmured. “ What can I do for 
her ? Estelle, you must be saved, — but how ? ” 

My words and my look seemed to inspire her with a hope. 
She rose, sank upon both knees before me, lifted up her 
clasped hands, and said: “O sir! O Mr. Carteret! as you 
are a man, as you reverence the recollection of your mother, 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE 


119 


save me, — save me from the consequences of this death ! 
I am now the slave of Mr. Ratcliff ; and what that involves 
to me you can guess, but I, without a new agony, cannot ex- 
plain. Save me, dear sir ! Good sir, kind sir, for God’s love, 
save me ! ” And then, with a wild cry of despair, she added : 
“ I will be yours, — body and soul, I will be yours, if you will 
only save me ! I will be your slave, — your anything , — only 
let me belong to one I can love and respect. Do not, do not 
cast me off ! ” 

“ Cast you off, dear child ? Never ! ” said I, and, raising her 
to her feet, I kissed her forehead. 

That first kiss ! How shall I analyze it ? It was pure and 
tender as a mother’s, notwithstanding the utter abandonment 
signified in the maiden’s words. That very self-surrender was 
her security. Had she been shy, I might have been less cold. 
But her look of disappointment showed she attributed that 
coldness to some less flattering cause, — plainly to indifference, 
if not to personal dislike. She could not detect in me the first 
symptom of what she instinctively knew would be a guaranty 
of my protection, stronger than duty. 

Like all the slaves' and descendants of slaves in Louisiana, of 
all grades of color, she had been bred up to a knowledge that 
it was a consequence of her condition that there could be no 
marriage union between her and a respectable white man. Im- 
pressed with this conviction, she had pleaded to be allowed to 
remain in some convent, though it were but as a servant, for the 
remainder of her life. The selfishness of her mistress and owner, 
Miss Huger, put it out of her power to make this choice effec- 
tual. Her kind-hearted Catholic instructors consoled her, as 
well as they could, by the assurance thfct, being a slave, the sin 
of any mode of life to which she might be forced would be 
attended with absolution. But she had the horror which every 
pure nature, strong in the affections, must feel, under like cir- 
cumstances, at the prospect of constraint. Since her life was to 
be that of a slave, O that her master might be one she could 
love, and who could love her ! The first part of the dream 
would be realized if I could buy her. What misery to think 
that the latter part must remain unfulfilled ! 

I led her to a chair. She sat down and burst into a passion 


120 


PECULIAR. 


of tears. In vain I tried to console her by words. Supporting 
her head with one hand, I then with the other smoothed back 
the beautiful hair from her forehead. Gradually she became 
calm. I knelt beside her, and said : “ Estelle, compose yourself. 
I promise you I will risk everything, life itself, to save you 
from the fate you abhor. Now summon your best faculties, 
and let us together devise some plan of proceeding.” 

She lifted my hand to her lips in gratitude, made me take a 
seat by her side, and said : “ Mr. Ratcliff or his agent may be 
here any minute, and then you would be powerless. The first 
step is to leave this house, and seek concealment.” 
a Do you know any place of refuge ? ” 

“ Yes ; I know a mulatto woman, named Mallet, who has a 
little stall on Poydras Street for the sale of baskets. She occu- 
pies a small tenement near by, and has two spare rooms. 1 
think we can trust her, for I once tended one of her children 
who died ; and she does not know that I am a slave.” 

“ But, Estelle, I grieve to say it, — I am poor, almost des- 
titute. My friends are chiefly theatrical people, poor like 
myself, and most of them are North at this season.” 

“ Do not let that distress you,” she said ; “ I am the owner 
of a gold watch, for which we can get at least fifty dollars.” 

“ And mine will bring another fifty,” returned I. “ Let us 
go, then, at once, since here you are in danger.” 

An old negro, well known to the family, and who carried 
round oranges for sale, at tliis moment stopped at the door. I 
gave him a dollar, on condition that he would occupy and guard 
the house till some one should come to. relieve him. I then, 
at Estelle’s suggestion, sent a letter to the Superintendent of 
Burials, announcing Madame Dufour’s death, and requesting 
him to attend to the interment. I also enclosed the address of 
Mr. Ratcliff and Mr. Semmes as the persons who would see all 
expenses paid. To this I signed my real name. 

It was agreed that Estelle should leave at once. She gave 
me written directions for finding our place of rendezvous. 
There was before it an old magnolia-tree which I was particu- 
larly to note. I was to follow soon with such articles of attire, 
belonging to her and to myself, as I could bring, and I was to 
return for more if necessary. We parted, and I think she 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


121 


must have read something not sinister in the expression of my 
face, for her own suddenly brightened, and, with a smile ineffa- 
bly sweet in its thankfulness, she said, “ Au revoir ! ” 

Our plans were all successfully carried out. The wardrobe 
of neither of us was extensive. Two visits to the house enabled 
me to remove all that we required. My letter to the Superin- 
tendent of Burials I had dropped into his box, and that after- 
noon I saw him enter the house, so that I knew the proper 
attentions to the dead would not be wanting. 

Mrs. Mallet gladly received us on our own terms. Estelle 
had appropriated for me the better of the two little rooms, and 
had arranged and decked it so as to wear an appearance of 
neatness and comfort, if not of luxury. I expostulated, but 
she would not listen to my occupying the inferior apartment. 
Her own preferences must rule. 

Ever dear to memory must be that first evening in our new 
abode ! There was one old fauteuil in her room, and, placing 
Estelle in that, I sat on a low trunk by her side, where I could 
lean my elbow on the arm of the chair. It was a warm, but 
not oppressive July evening, with a bright moon. The window 
was open, and in the little area upon which it looked a lemon- 
tree rustled as the breeze swelled, now and then, to a whis 
per. 

We were alone. I asked a thousand questions. I extorted 
the secret of my mended clothes and the mysterious gold pieces. 
That air of depression which had always been so marked in 
Estelle had vanished. She spoke and looked like a new being. 
I put a question in French, and she answered in that language 
with a fluency and a purity of accent that put me to the blush 
for my own lingual shortcomings. I spoke of books, and was 
surprised to find in her a bold, detective taste in recognizing 
the peculiarities, and penetrating to the spiritual life, of the 
higher class of thinkers and literary artists, whether French, 
English, or American. 

I asked her to sing. In subdued tones, but with an exquisite 
accuracy, she sang some of the favorite airs by Mozart, Bel- 
lini, and Donizetti, using the Italian as if it were her native 
tongue. 

And there, in that atmosphere of death, while the surround- 
6 


122 


PECULIAR. 


ing population were being decimated by the terrible pestilence, 
I drank in my first draughts of an imperishable love. 

I looked at my watch. It was half an hour after midnight. 
How had the hours slipped by ! We must part. 

“ Estelle ! ” I exclaimed with emotion ; but I could not put 
into words what I had intended to say. Then, taking her hand, 
I added, “ You have given me the most delightful evening of 
my life.” 

No light was burning in the room, but by the moonbeams I 
could see her face all luminous with joy and triumph. My 
second kiss was bestowed ; but this time it was on her lips, - — 
brief, but impassioned. “ Good night, Estelle ! ” I whispered ; 
and, forcing myself instantly away, I closed the door. 

I entered my apartment, and went to bed, but not to sleep. 
Tears that I could not repress gushed forth. A strange rapture 
possessed me. Nature had proved itself stronger than con- 
vention. The impulsive heart was more than a match for the 
calculating head. For the first time in my life I saw the new 
heavens mid the new earth which love brings in. Estelle 
now seemed all the dearer to me for her very helplessness, — 
for the degradation and isolation in which slavery had placed 
her. Were she a princess, could I love her half as well ? But 
she shall be treated with all the consideration due to a princess ! 
Passion shall take no advantage of her friendlessness and self- 
abandonment. 

Then came thoughts of the danger she was in, — of what I 
should do for her rescue ; and it was not till light dawned in 
the east that I fell into a slumber. 

We gave up nearly the whole of the next day to the discussion 
of plans. In pursuance of that on which we finally fixed, 
Estelle wrote a letter to Mr. Ratcliff in these words : — 

“ To Carberry Ratcliff, Esq. : — Sir : By the time this let- 
ter reaches you I shall be out of your power, and with my free- 
dom assured. Still I desire to be at liberty to return to New 
Orleans, if I should so elect, and therefore I request you to name 
the sum in consideration of which you will give me free papers. 
A friend will negotiate with you. Let that friend have your 
answer, if you please, in the form of an advertisement in the 
Picayune, addressed to Estelle.” 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


123 


Two days afterwards we found the following answer in the 
newspaper named : — 

“To Estelle: For fifty dollars, I will give you the papers 
you desire. C. R.” 

Long and anxiously we meditated on this reply. I dreaded 
a trap. Was it not most likely that Ratcliff, in naming so low 
a figure, hoped to secure some clew to the whereabouts of 
Estelle ? 

While I was puzzling myself with the question, Estelle sug- 
gested an expedient. The answer to the advertisement un- 
doubtedly came from Ratcliff, and we had a right to regard it 
as valid. Why not address a letter, with fifty dollars, to Rat- 
cliff, and have it legally registered at the post-office ? 

“ Admirable ! ” exclaimed I, delighted at her quickness. 

“ No, it is not admirable,” she replied. “ An objection sug- 
gests itself. Some one will have to go to the post-office to 
register the letter, and he may be known or tracked.” v 

I reflected a moment, and then said : “ I think I can guard 
against such a danger. Having been an actor, I am expert at 
disguises. I will go as an old man.” 

The plan was approved and put into effect. The two watches 
were disposed of at a jeweller’s for a hundred and ten dollars. 
In an altered hand I wrote Ratcliff a letter, enclosed in it a fifty- 
dollar bill, and bade him direct his answer simply to Estelle 
Grandeau, Cincinnati, Ohio. I added one dollar for the pur- 
pose of covering any expense he might be at for postage. Then, 
at the shop of a theatrical costumer, I disguised myself as a man 
of seventy, and went to the post-office. There I had the letter 
and its contents of money duly registered. 

As I was returning home in my disguise, I saw the old negro 
I had left in charge at Mrs. Du four’s. He did not recognize 
me, and was not surprised at my questions. From him I 
learned, that before he left the house a gentleman (unt 7 abtedly 
Ratcliff) had called, and had seemed to be in a terrible fury 
on finding that Estelle had gone away some hours before ; but 
his rage had redoubled when he further ascertained that a 
young man was her attendant. 

The interesting question now was, Had Ratcliff any clew to 


124 


PECULIAR. 


my identity ? My true name, William Carteret, under which I 
had been known at Mrs. Dufour’s, was not the name I had gone 
by on the stage. Here was one security. Still it was obvious 
the utmost precaution must be used. 

My plans were speedily laid. Not having money enough to 
pay the passage of both Estelle and myself up the Mississippi, 
I decided that Estelle should go alone, disguised as an old 
woman. I engaged a state-room, and paid for it in advance. * 
I had much difficulty in persuading her to accede to the arrange- 
ment, so painful was the prospect of a separation; but she 
finally consented. At my friend the costumer’s I fitted her 
out in a plain, Quaker-like dress. She was to be Mrs. Carver, 
a schoolmistress, going North. The next morning I covered 
her beautiful hair with a grayish wig ; and then, by the aid of a 
hare’s foot and some pigments, added wrinkles and a complex- 
ion suitable to a maiden lady of fifty. With a veil over her 
face, she would not be suspected. 

The hour of parting came. I put a plain gold ring on her 
finger. “ Be constant,” I said. “ F orever ! ” she solemnly 
replied, pressing the ring to her lips with tears of delight 
The carriage was at the door. The farewell kiss was ex- 
changed. Her little trunk was put on the driver’s foot-board. 
Mi's. Mallet entered and took a seat, and Estelle was about to 
follow, when suddenly a faintness seized me. She detected it at 
once, turned back, and exclaimed in alarm : “ You are not well. 
What is the matter ? ” 

“ Nothing, that a glass of wine will not cure,” I replied. 
“ There ! It is over already. Do not delay. Your time is 
limited. Driver ! Fast, but steady ! Here ’s a dollar for you ! 
There ! Step in, Estelle.” 

She looked at me hesitatingly. I summoned all my will to 
check my increasing faintness. Urging her into the carriage, I 
closed the door, and the horses started. Estelle watched me 
from the window, till an angle in the street hid me from her 
view. Then, staggering into the house, I crawled up-stairs to 
my chamber, and sank upon the bed. 


The next ten days were a blank to consciousness. Fevei 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


125 


and delirium had the mastery of my brain. On the eleventh 
morning I seemed to wake gradually, as if from some anxious 
dream. I lay twining my hands feebly one over the other. 
Then suddenly a speck in the ceiling fixed my attention. 
Raising myself on the pillow, I looked around. Very gently 
and slowly recollection came back. The appearance of Mrs. 
Mallet soon seemed a natural sequence. She smiled, gave an 
affirmative shake of the head, as if to tell me all was well, and 
at her bidding, I lay down and slept. The following day I was 
strong enough to inquire after Estelle. 

“ Be good, and you shall see her,” was the reply. 

“ What ! Did she not take passage in the boat ? ” 

“ There ! Do not be alarmed ; she will explain it all.” 

And as she spoke, Estelle glided in, held up her forefinger 
by way of warning, and, smiling through her tears, kissed my 
forehead. I felt a shock of joy, followed by anxiety. “ Why 
did you not go ? ” I asked. 

“ I found I could dispose of my state-room, and I did it, for 1 
was too much concerned about your health to go in peace. It 
was fortunate I returned. You have had the fever, but the 
danger is over.” 

“ How long have I lain thus ? ” 

“ This is the twelfth day.” 

“ Have I had a physician ? ” 

u No one but Estelle ; but then she is an expert ; she once 
walked the hospitals with the Sisters of Charity.” 

My convalescence was rapid. By the first of September 
I was well enough to take long strolls in the evening with 
Estelle. On the fifth of that month, early one starlit night, I said 
to her, “ Come, Estelle, put on your bonnet and shawl for a 
walk.” 

She brought them into my room, and placed them on the 
bed. 

“ Where shall we go ? ” she inquired. 

“ To the Rev. Mr. Fulton’s,” I replied ; “ that is, if you 
will consent to be — ” 

“ To be what ? ” she asked, not dreaming of my drift. 

“ To be married to me, Estelle ! ” 

The expressions that flitted over her face, — expressions of 


126 


PECULIAR. 


doubtful rapture, pettish incredulity, and childlike eagerness, — 
come back vividly to my remembrance. 

“ You do not mean it ! ” at length she murmured, reproach- 
fully. 

“ From my inmost heart I mean it, and I desire it above all 
earthly desires,” I replied. 

She sank to the floor, and, clasping my knees with her arms, 
bowed her head upon them, and wept. Then, starting up, she 
said : “ What ! Your wife ? Really your wife ? Mistress 
and wife in one ? Me, — a slave ? Can it be, William, you 
desire it?” 

It was the first time she had called me by my first name. 

“ Have you considered it well ? ” she continued. “ 0, 1 fear 
it would be ungenerous in me to consent. Such an alli- 
ance might jeopard all your future. You are young, well- 
connected, and can one day command all that the best society 
of the country can offer. No, William, not for me, — not for 
me the position of your wife ! ” 

I replied to these misgivings by putting on her shawl, then 
her bonnet, the tying of which I accompanied with a kiss that 
brought the roses to her cheeks. 

“ Estelle,” I said, “ unless we are very different from what 
we believe, the step is one we shall not regret. I must be 
degenerate indeed, if I can ever find anything in life more pre- 
cious than the love you give and inspire. But perhaps you 
shrink from so binding a tie.” 

“ Shrink from it ? ” she repeated, in a tone of abandonment to 
all that was rapturous and delightful in her conceptions, though 
the tears gushed from her eyes. “ O, generous beyond my 
dreams! Would I might prove to you of what my love is 
capable, and how you have deepened its unfathomable depths 
by this last proof of your affection ! ” 

We went forth under the stars that beautiful evening to the 
well-known minister’s house. He received us kindly, asked us 
several questions, and, having satisfied himself of our intelligence 
and sincerity, united us in marriage. We gave him our real 
names, — William Carteret and Estelle Grandeau, — and he 
promised to keep the secret. 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


127 


Six weeks flew by, how swiftly! The pressure which cir- 
cumstances had put upon Estelle’s buoyancy of character being 
taken away, she moved the very embodiment of joy. It was 
as if she was making up for the past repression of her cheerful- 
ness by an overflow, constant, yet gentle as the superflux of a 
fountain. Her very voice grew more childlike in its tones. 
A touching gratitude that never wearied of making itself felt 
seemed added to an abounding tenderness towards me. 

She had a quick sense of the humorous which made hers an 
atmosphere of smiles. She would make me laugh by the odd 
and childish, yet charming pet phrases she would lavish upon 
me. She would amuse me by her anxiety in catering for me 
at meal-time, and making her humble fare seem sumptuous by 
her devices of speech, as well as by her culinary arts. The good 
nuns with whom she had lived had made her a thorough house- 
keeper, and a paragon of neatness. She wanted further to be 
my valet, my very slave, anticipating my wants, and forestall- 
ing every little effort which I might put forth. 

My object now was to raise the sum necessary for our depart- 
ure from the city. I took pupils in music among the humblest 
classes, — among the free blacks and even the slaves. I would 
be absent from nine o’clock in the morning till five in the after- 
noon. Estelle aided me in my purpose. She learned from 
Mrs. Mallet the art of making baskets, and contrived some of 
a new pattern which met a ready sale. We began to lay up 
five, sometimes six dollars a day. 

Once I met Mr. Ratcliff in Carondelet Street. He evidently 
recognized me, for he turned on me a glance full of arrogance 
and hate. The encounter made me uneasy, but, thinking the 
mention of it might produce needless anxiety, I said nothing 
about it to Estelle. We were sitting that very evening in our 
little room. Estelle, always childlike, was in my lap, question- 
ing me closely about all the incidents of the day, — what streets 
I had walked through ; what persons I had seen ; if I had 
been thinking of her, &c. I answered all her questions but 
one, and she seemed content ; and then whispered in my ears 
the intelligence that she was likely to be the mother of my 
child. Delightful announcement ! And yet with the thrill of 
satisfaction came a pang of solicitude. 


128 


PECULIAR. 


“ Do you believe,” prattled Estelle, “ there ever were two 
people so happy ? I can’t help recalling those words you read 
me the other night from your dear father’s last part, ‘ If it 
were now to die, ’t were now to be most happy.’ It seems to 
me as if the felicity of a long life had been concentrated into 
these few weeks, and as if we were cheating our mortal lot in 
allowing ourselves to be quite so happy.” 

Was this the sigh of her presaging heart? 

I resolved on immediate action. The next day (a Wednes- 
day) I passed upon the Levee. After many inquiries, I found 
a ship laden with cotton that would sail the following Sunday 
for Boston. The captain agreed to give up his best state-room 
for a hundred dollars. It should be ready for our occupancy on 
Saturday. I closed with his offer at once. Estelle rejoiced at 
the arrangement. 

“ What has happened to-day ? ” I asked her. 

“ Nothing of moment,” she replied. “ Two men called to 
get names for a Directory.” 

“ What did you tell them ? ” 

“ That if they wanted my husband’s name, they must get it 
from him personally.” 

“ You did well. Were they polite ? ” 

“ Very, and seemed to seek excuses for lingering ; but, get- 
ting no encouragement, they left.” 

Could it be they were spies ? The question occurred to me, 
but I soon dismissed it as improbable. 

And yet they were creatures employed by Carberry Ratcliff 
to find out what they could about the man who had offended 
him. 

Ratcliff was the type of a class that spring from slavery as 
naturally as certain weeds spring from a certain quality o'f 
manure. He was such a man as only slavery could engender. 
The son of a South Carolina planter, he was bred to believe 
that his little State — little in respect to its white population 
— Avas yet the master State of the Union, and that his family 
was the master family of the State. The conclusion that he 
was the master man of his family, and consequently of the 
Union, was not distant or illogical. As soon as he could lift a 
pistol he was taught to fire at a mark, and to make believe it 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


129 


\vas an Abolitionist. Before he was twelve years old he had 
fired at and wounded a free negro, who had playfully answered 
an imperious order by mimicking the boy’s strut. Of this 
achievement the father was rather proud. 

Accustomed to regard the lives and persons of slaves as 
subject to his irresponsible will, or to the caprices of his un- 
trained and impure passions, he soon transferred to the laboring 
white man and woman the contempt he felt for the negro. 
We cannot have the moral sense impaired in one direction with- 
out having it warped and corrupted throughout. 

Wrong feeling must, by an inexorable law, breed wrong 
thinking. And so Ratcliff looked upon all persons, whether 
white or black, who had to earn their bread by manual labor, 
as (in the memorable words of his friend Mr. Hammond, 
United States Senator from South Carolina) “ Mudsills and 
slaves.” For the thrifty Yankee his contempt was supreme, 
bitter, almost frantic. 

By mismanagement and extravagance his family estate was 
squandered, and, the father having fallen in a duel with a 
political adversary, Ratcliff found himself at twenty-one with 
expensive tastes and no money. He borrowed a few hundred 
dollars, went to Louisiana, and there married a woman of large 
property, but personally unattractive. Revengeful and unfor- 
getting as a savage where his pride was touched, and more 
cruel than a wolf in his instincts, Ratcliff had always meant 
to requite me for the humiliation I had made him experience. 
He had lost trace of me soon after the incident at the theatre. 
No sooner had I passed him in Carondelet Street than he put 
detectives on my track, and my place of abode was discovered. 
He received such a report of my wife’s beauty as roused him 
to the hope of an exquisite revenge. Doubtless he found an 
opportunity of seeing Estelle without being seen-; and on dis- 
covering in her his slave, his surprise and fury reached an 
ungovernable height. 

Let me not dwell on the horrors of the next few days. We 
had made all our arrangements for departure that Saturday 
morning. 

Estelle, in her simple habit, never looked so lovely. A little 
cherry-colored scarf which I had presented her was about her 


130 


PECULIAR. 


neck, and contrasted with the neutral tint of her robe. The 
carriage for our conveyance to the ship was at the door. Our 
light amount of luggage was put on behind. We bade our 
kind hostess good by. Estelle stepped in, and I was about to 
follow, when two policemen, each with a revolver in his hand, 
approached from a concealment near by, shut the carriage 
door, and, laying hands upon me, drew me back. At the same 
moment, from the opposite side of the street, Ratcliff, with two 
men wearing official badges, came, and, opening the opposite door 
of the coach, entered and took seats. So sudden were these 
movements, that they were over before either Estelle or I 
could offer any resistance. 

The coachman at once drove off. An imploring shriek from 
Estelle was followed by a frantic effort on her part to thrust 
open the door of the coach. I saw her struggling in the arms 
of the officers, her face wild with terror, indignation, rage. 
Ratcliff, who had taken the seat opposite to her, put his head 
out of the coach, and bowed to me mockingly. 

One of my stalwart captors held a pistol to my head, and 
cautioned me to be “ asy.” For half a minute I made no resist- 
ance. I was calculating how I could best rescue Estelle. All 
the while I kept my eyes intently on the departing carriage. 

My captors held me as if they were prepared for any strug- 
gle. But I had not been seven years on the stage without 
learning something of the tricks of the wrestler and the gym- 
nast. Suddenly both policemen found, their legs knocked from 
under them, and their heads in contact with the pavement. A 
pistol went off as they fell, and a bullet passed through the 
crown of my hat ; but before they could recover their footing, I 
had put an eighth of a mile between us. 

Where was the carriage ? The street into which it had 
turned was intersected by another which curved on either side 
like the horns of a crescent. To my dismay, when I reached 
this curve, the carriage was not to be seen. It had turned into 
the street either on the right or on the left, and the curve hid 
it from view. Which way ? I could judge nothing from the 
sound, for other vehicles were passing. I stopped a man, and 
eagerly questioned him. He did not speak English. I put 
my question in French. He stopped to consider, — believed 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


131 


the carriage had taken the left turning, but was not quite 
certain. I ran leftward with all my speed. Carriages were to 
be seen, but not one with the little trunk and valise strapped on 
behind. I then turned and ran down the right turning. Baf- 
fled ! At fault ! In the network of streets it was all conjecture. 
Still on I ran in the desperate hope of seeing the carriage at 
some cross street. But my efforts were fruitless. 

Panting and exhausted, I sought rest in a “ magasin ” for the 
sale of cigars. A little back parlor offered itself for smokers. 
I entered. A waiter brought in three cigars, and I threw a 
quarter of a dollar on the table. But I was no lover of the 
weed. The tobacco remained untouched. I wanted an oppor- 
tunity for summoning my best thoughts. 

Even if I had caught the coach, would not the chances have 
been against me ? Clearly, yes. Further search for it, then, 
could be of no avail. Undoubtedly Ratcliff would take Estelle 
at once to his plantation, for there he could have her most 
completely in his power. Let that calculation be my starting- 
point. 

How stood it in regard to myself? Did not my seizure by 
the policemen show that legal authority for my arrest had been 
procured ? Probably. If imprisoned, should I not be w T holly 
powerless to help Estelle ? Obviously. Perhaps the morning 
newspapers would have something to say of the affair? Noth- 
ing more likely. Was it not, then, my safest course to keep still 
and concealed for the present ? Alas, yes ! Could I not trust 
Estelle to protect her own honor ? Ay, she would protect it 
with her life ; but the pang was in the thought that her life 
might be sacrificed in the work of protection. 

The “ magasin ” was kept by Gustave Leroux, an old French- 
man, who had been a captain under Napoleon, and was in the 
grand army in its retreat from Moscow. A bullet had gone 
through his cheeks, and another had taken off part of his 
nose. 

I must have sat with the untouched cigars before me nearly 
three hours. At last, supposing I was alone, I bowed my fore- 
head on my hand, and wept. Suddenly I looked up. The old 
Frenchman, with his nose and cheek covered with large black 
patches, was standing with both hands on the table, gazing 
wistfully and tenderly upon me. 


132 


PECULIAR. 


“ What is it, my brave ? ” he asked in F rench, while tears 
began to fill his own eyes. I looked up. There was no resist- 
ing the benignity of that old battered face. I took the two 
hands which he held out to me in my own. He sat down by 
my side, and I told him my story. 

After I had finished, he sat stroking his gray moustache with 
forefinger and thumb, and for ten minutes did not speak. 
Then he said : “ I have seen this Mr. Ratcliff. A bad physi- 
ognomy ! And yet what Mademoiselle Millefleurs would call 
a pretty fellow ! Let us see. He will carry the girl to Lo- 
rain, and have her well guarded in his own house. As he has 
no faith in women, his policy will be to win her by fine pres- 
ents, jewels, dresses, and sumptuous living. He will try tliat- 
game for a full month at least. I think, if the girl is what you 
tell me she is, we may feel quite secure for a month. That 
will give us time to plan a campaign. Meanwhile you shall 
occupy a little room in my house, and keep as calm as you can. 
My dinner will be ready in ten minutes. You must try to 
coax an appetite, for you will want all your health and strength. 
Courage , mon brave ! ” 

This old soldier, in his seventieth year, had done the most 
courageous act of his life. Out of pure charity he had married 
Madame Ponsard, five years his elder, an anti-Bonapartist, 
and who had been left a widow, destitute, and with six young 
parentless grandchildren. Fifty years back he had danced with 
her when she was a belle in Paris, and that fact was an offset 
for all her senile vanity and querulousness. It reconciled him, 
not only to receiving the lady herself, large, obese, and rubi- 
cund, and, worst of all, anti-Bonapartist, but to take her encum- 
brances, four girls and two boys, all with fearful appetites and 
sound lungs. But the old Captain was a sentimentalist ; and 
the young life about him had rejuvenated his own. After all, 
there was a selfish calculation in his lovely charities ; for he 
knew that to give was to receive in larger measure. 

I accepted his offer of a shelter. The next morning he 
brought me a copy of the Delta. It contained this paragraph : 

“ We regret to learn that Mr. Julian Talbot, formerly an 
actor, and well known in theatrical circles, was yesterday 
arrested in the atrocious act of abducting a female slave of 


THE STOKY OF ESTELLE. 


133 


great personal beauty, belonging to the Hon. Carberry Ratcliff. 
The slave was recovered, but Talbot managed to escape. The 
officers are on his track. It is time an example was made of 
these sneaking Abolitionists.’’ 


u O insupportable, 0 heavy hour ! ” I tried to reconcile my- 
self to delay. I stayed a whole fortnight with Leroux. At 
last I procured the dress of a laboring Celt, and tied up in a 
bundle a cheap dress that would serve for a boy. I then stuck 
a pipe through my hat-band, and put a shillelah under my arm. 
A mop-like red wig concealed a portion of my face. Lamp- 
black and ochre did the rest. Leroux told me I was prema- 
ture in my movements, but, without heeding his expostulations, 
I took an affectionate leave of him and of Madame, whose heart 
I had won by talking French with her, and listening to her long 
stories of the ancient regime. 

I went on board a Red River boat*. One of the policemen 
who arrested me was present on the watch ; but I stared him 
stupidly in the face, and passed on unsuspected. 

Ratcliff was having a canal dug at Lorain for increasing the 
facilities of transporting cotton ; and as the work was unhealthy, 
he engaged Irishmen for it. The killing an Irishman was no 
loss, but the death of a slave would be a thousand dollars out 
of the master’s pocket. I easily got a situation among the 
diggers. How my heart bounded when I first saw RatclffiH 
He came in company with his superintendent, Van Buskirk, 
and stood near me some minutes while I handled the spade. 

For hours, every night during the week, I watched the house 
to discover the room occupied by Estelle. On Sunday I went 
in the daytime. From the window of a room in the upper- 
most story a little cherry-colored scarf was flaunting in the 
breeze. I at once recognized its meaning. Some negroes 
were near by under a tree. I approached, and asked an an- 
cient black fellow, who was playing on an old cracked banjo, 
what he would take for the instrument. 

“ Look yere, Paddy,” said he, “ if yer tink to fool dis chile, 
yer ’ll fine it air n’t to be did. So wood up, and put off ter 
wunst, or yer ’ll kotch it, shoo-ah.” 


134 


PECULIAR. 


“ But, Daddy, I ’m in right earnest,” replied I. “ If you ’ll 
sell that banjo at any price within reason, I ’ll buy it.” 

“ It ’ll take a heap more ’n you kn raise ter buy dis yere 
banjo ; so, Paddy, make tracks, and jes’ you mine how yer 
guv dis yere ole nigger any more ob yer sarss.” 

“ I ’ll pay you two dollars for that banjo, Daddy. Will you 
take it ? ” said I, holding out the silver. 

The old fellow looked at me incredulously ; then seized the 
silver and thrust the banjo into my hand, uttering at the same 
time such an expressive “ Wheugh ! ” as only a negro can. 
Then, unable to restrain himself, he broke forth : “ Yah, yah, 
yah ! Paddy ’s got a bargain dis time, shoo-ah. Yah, yah, yah ! 
Look yere, Paddy. Dat am de most sooperfinest banjo in dese 
parts ; can’t fine de match ob it in all Noo Orleenz. Jes’ you 
hole on ter dem air strings, so dey won’t break in two places ter 
wonst, and den fire away, and yer ’ll ’stonish de natives, shoo-ah. 
Yah, yah, yah! Takes dis ole nigg to sell a banjo. Yah! 
yah ! ” 

Every man who achieves success finds his penalty in a 
train of parasites ; and Daddy’s case was not exceptional. As 
he started in a bee line for his cabin, to boast of his acuteness 
in trade to an admiring circle, he was followed by his whole 
gang of witnesses. 

All this time I could see Ratcliff with a party of gentlemen 
on his piazza. They were smoking cigars ; and, judging from 
the noise they made, had been dining and drinking. I slipped 
away with the banjo under my arm. 

That night I returned and played the air of “ Pestal ” as 
near to the house as I deemed it prudent to venture. I would 
play a minute, and then pause. I had not done this three times, 
when I heard Estelle’s voice from her chamber, humming these 
words in low but audible tones: 

“ Hark ! methinks I hear celestial voices sing, 

Soon thou shalt be free, child of misery, — 

Rest and perfect joy in heaven are waiting thee ; 

Spirit, plume thy wings and flee ! ” 

I struck a few notes, by way of acknowledgment, and left. 

The next night I merely whistled the remembered air in 
token of my presence. A light appeared for a moment at the 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


135 


window, and then was removed. I crept up close to the house. 
On that side of it where Estelle was confined there were 
no piazzas. I had not waited two minutes when something 
touched my head and bobbed before my eyes. It was a little 
roll of paper. I detached it from the string to which it was 
tied ; and then, taking from my pocket an old envelope, I wrote 
on it in the dark these words : u To-morrow night at ten o’clock 
down the string. If prevented, then any night after at the 
same hour. Love shall find a way. Forever.” 

The letter which I found folded in the paper lies yet in 
my pocket-book, but I need not look at it in order to repeat it 
entire. It is in these words : — 

What shall I call thee ? Dearest ? But that word implies 
a comparative ; and whom shall I compare with thee ? Most 
precious and most beloved ? O, that is not a tithe of it ! Idol ? 
Darling? Sweet? Pretty words, but insufficient. Ah! life 
of my life, there are no superlatives in language that can in- 
terpret to thee the unspeakable affection which swells in my 
heart and moistens my eyes as I commence this letter ! Can 
we by words give an idea of a melody ? No more can I put on 
paper what my heart .would be whispering to thine. Forgive 
the effort and the failure. 

“ I have the freedom of the upper story of the house, and my 
room is where you saw the scarf. Two strong negro women, 
with sinister faces, and employed as seamstresses, watch me 
every time I cross the threshold. At night I am locked in. 
The windows, as you may see, are always secured by iron bars. 

“ Ratcliff hopes to subdue me by slow approaches. O, the 
unutterable loathing which he inspires ! He has placed im- 
pure books in my way. He sends me the daintiest food and 
wines. I confine myself to bread, vegetables, and cream. He 
cannot drug me without my knowledge. Twice and sometimes 
three times a day he visits me, and, finding me firm in my 
resolve, retires with a self-satisfied air which maddens me. He 
evidently believes in my final submission. No ! Sooner, death ! 
on my knees I swear it. 

“ Yesterday he sent splendid dresses, laces, jewels, diamonds. 
He offers me a carriage, an establishment, and to settle on me 
enough to make me secure for the future. How he magnifies 
my hate by all these despicable baits ! 

“ Sweet, be very prudent. While steadily maintaining to- 
wards this wretch, whom the law calls my master, the demeanor 


136 


PECULIAR. 


that may best assure him of my steadfast resolve, I take care 
not to arouse his anger ; for I know what you want is oppor- 
tunity. He may any time be called off suddenly to New 
Orleans. Be wary. Tell me what you propose. A string shall 
be let down from my window to-morrow night at ten by stealth, 
for I am watched. God keep thee, my husband, my beloved ! 
How I shudder at thought of all thy dangers ! Be sure, O 
William, tender and true, my heart will hold eternally one only 
image. Adieu ! Estelle.” 

The next night I put her in possession of a rope and a boy’s 
dress, also of two files, with directions for filing apart the iron 
bars. I saw it would not be difficult to enable her to get out of 
the house. The dreadful question was, How shall we escape 
the search which will at once be made? For a week we ex- 
changed letters. At last she ’wrote me that Ratcliff would the 
next day leave for New Orleans for his wife. I wrote to 
Estelle to be ready the ensuing night, and on a signal from me 
to let herself down by the rope. 

These plans were successfully carried out. Disguised as a 
laboring boy, Estelle let herself down to the ground. Once 
more we clasped each other heart to heart. I had selected a 
moonless night for the escape. In order to baffle the scent of 
the bloodhounds that would be put on our track, I took to the 
river. In a canoe I paddled down stream some fifteen miles 
till daylight. There, at a little bend called La Coude, we 
stopped. It now occurred to me that our safest plan w r ould be 
to take the next boat up the river, and return on our course 
instead of keeping on to the Mississippi. Our pursuers would 
probably look for us in any direction but that. 

The Rigolette was the first boat that stopped. We went on 
board, and the first person we encountered was Ratcliff! He 
was returning, having learnt at the outset of his journey that 
his wife had left New Orleans the day before. Estelle was 
thrown off her guard by the suddenness of the meeting, and 
uttered a short, sharp cry of dismay which betrayed her. 
Poor child! She was little skilled in feigning. Ratcliff 
walked up to her and removed her hat. 

I had seen men in a rage, but never had I witnessed such an 
infuriated expression as that which Ratoliff ’s features now ex- 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


137 


hibited. It was wolfish, beastly, in its ferocity. His smooth 
pink face grew livid. Seizing Estelle roughly by the arm, he — 
whatever he was about to do, the operation was cut short by a 
blow from my fist between his eyes which felled him sense- 
less on the deck. 

The spectacle of a rich planter knocked down by an Irish- - 
man was not a common one on board the Rigolette. We were 
taken in custody, Estelle and I, and confined together in a 
state-room. 

Ratcliff was badly stunned, but cold water and brandy at 
length restored him. At Lorain the boat stopped till Yan 
Buskirk and half a dozen low whites, his creatures and hang- 
ers-on, could be summoned to take me in charge. Ratcliff now 
recognized me as his acquaintance of the theatre, and a new 
paroxysm of fury convulsed his features. I was searched, de- 
prived of my money, then handcuffed ; then shackled by the 
legs, so that I could only move by taking short steps. Estelle’s 
arms were pinioned behind her, and in that state she was forced 
into an open vehicle and conveyed to the house. 

I was placed in an outbuilding near the stable, a sort of 
dungeon for refractory slaves. It was lighted from the roof, 
was unfloored, and contained neither chair nor log on which 
to sit. For two days and nights neither food nor drink was 
brought to me. With great difficulty, on account of my chain, 

I managed to get at a small piece of biscuit in my coat-pocket. 
This I ate, and, as the rain dripped through the roof, I was 
enabled to quench my thirst. 

On the third day two men led me out to an adjoining build- 
ing, and down-stairs into a cellar. As we entered, the first 
object I beheld sent such a shock of horror to my heart that I 
wonder how I survived it. Tied to a post, and stripped naked 
to her hips, her head drooping, her breast heaving, her back 
scored by the lash and bleeding, sfbod Estelle. Near by, lean- 
ing on a cotton-bale, was Ratcliff smoking a cigar. Seated on 
a block, his back resting against the wall, with one leg over the 
other, was a white man, holding a cowskin, and apparently 
resting from his arduous labors as woman-whipper. Forgetting 
my shackles, and uttering some inarticulate cry of anguish, I 
strove to rush upon 'Ratcliff, but fell to the ground, exciting 


188 


PECULIAR. 


his derision and that of his creatures, the miserable “ mean ” 
whites, the essence of whose manhood familiarity with slavery 
had unmoulded till they had become bestial in their feelings. 

Estelle, roused by my voice, turned on me eyes lighted up 
by an affection which no bodily agony could for one moment 
enfeeble, and said, gaspingly : “ My own husband ! You see I 
keep my oath ! ” 

“ Husband indeed ! We ’ll see about that,” sneered Ratcliff. 
“ Fool ! do you imagine that a marriage contracted by a slave 
without the consent of the master has any validity, moral or 
legal ? ” 

I turned to him, and uttered — I know not what. The 
frenzy which seized me lifted me out of my normal state of 
thought, and by no effort of reminiscence have I ever since 
been able to recall what I said. 

I only remember that Ratcliff, with mock applause, clapped 
his hands and cried, “ Capital ! ” Then, lighting a fresh cigar, 
he remarked : “ There is yet one little ceremony more to be 
gone through with. Bring in the bridegroom.” 

What new atrocity was this ? 

A moment afterwards a young, lusty, stout, and not ill-look- 
ing negro, fantastically dressed, was led in with mock ceremony, 
by one of the mean whites, a whiskey-wasted creature named 
Lovell. I looked eagerly in the face of the negro, who bowed 
and smirked in a manner to excite roars of laughter on the part 
of Ratcliff and his minions. 

“ Well, boy, are you ready to take her for better or for 
worse ? ” asked the haughty planter. 

The negro bowed obsequiously, and, jerking off his hat, 
scratched his wool, and, vuth a laugh, replied : “ ’Scuze me, 
massa, but dis nigger can’t see his wife dat is to be ’xposed in 
dis onhan’some mahnner to de eyes of de profane. If Massa 
Ratcliff hab no ’jection, I ’ll j^s’ put de shawl on de bride’s back. 
Yah, yah, yah ! ” 

“ 0, make yourself as gallant as you please now,” said the 
planter, laughing. “ Let ’s see you begin to play the bride- 
groom.” 

Gracious heavens ! Was I right in my surmises ? Under 
all Ills harlequin grimaces and foolery, this negro, to my quick- 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


139 


cncd penetration, seemed to be crowding back, smothering, dis- 
guising, some intense emotion. His laugh was so extravagantly 
African, that it struck me as imitative in its exaggeration. I 
had heard a laugh much like it from the late Jim Crow Rice on 
the stage. Was the negro playing a part ? 

He approached Estelle, cut the thongs that bound her to the 
post, threw her shawl over her shoulders, and then, falling on 
one knee, put both hands on his heart, and rolled up his eyes 
much after the manner of Bombastes Furioso making love to 
Distaffina. The Ratcliffites were in ecstasies at the burlesque. 
Then, rising to his feet, the negro affectedly drew nearer to 
Estelle, and, putting up his hand, whispered, first in one of her 
ears, then in the other. I could see a change, sudden, but 
instantly checked, in her whole manner. Her lips moved. 
She must have murmured something in reply. 

“ Look here, Peek, you rascal,” cried Ratcliff, “ we must 
have the benefit of your soft words. What have you been 
saying to her?” 

“ I ’ze been tellin’ her,” said the negro, with tragic gesticula- 
tion, pointing to himself and then at me, “ to look fust on dis 
yere pikter, den on dat. Wheugh ! ” 

Still affecting the buffoon, he came up to me, presenting his 
person so that his face was visible only to myself. There was 
a divine pity in his eyes, and in the whole expression of his 
face the guaranty of a high and holy resolve. “ She will trust 
me,” he whispered. “ Do you the same.” 

To the spectators he appeared to be mocking me with grim- 
ace. To me he seemed an angel of deliverance. 

“ Now, Peek, to business ! ” said Ratcliff. “ You swear, do 
you, to make this woman your wife in fact as well as in name ; 
do you understand me, Peek ? ” 

“ Yes, massa, I understan’.” 

u You swear to guard her well, and never to let that white 
scoundrel yonder come near or touch her ? ” 

“ Yes, massa, I swar ter all dat, an’ ebber so much more. 
He ’ll kotch what he can’t carry if he goes fur to come nare 
my wife.” 

“ Kiss the book on it,” said Ratcliff, handing him a Bible. 

“ Yes, massa, as many books as you please,” replied Peek, 
doing as he was bidden. 


140 


PECULIAR. 


“ Then, by my authority as owner of you two slaves, and as 
justice of the peace, I pronounce you, in presence of these wit- 
nesses, man and wife,” said Ratcliff. “ Why the hell, Peek, 
don’t you kiss the bride ? ” 

“ 0, you jes’ leeb dis chile alone for dat air, Massa Ratcliff,” 
replied the negro ; and, concealing his mouth by both hands, he 
simulated a kiss. 

“ Now attend to Mrs. Peek while another little ceremony 
takes place,” said Ratcliff. 

At a given signal I was stripped of my coat, waistcoat, and 
shirt, then dragged to the whipping-post, and bound to it. I 
could see Estelle, her face of a mortal paleness, her body writh- 
ing as if in an agony. The first lash that descended on my 
bare flesh seemed to rive her very heart-strings, for she uttered 
a loud shriek, and was borne out senseless in the negro’s arms. 

“ All right ! ” said Ratcliff. “ We shall soon have half a 
dozen little Peeks toddling about. Proceed, Vickery.” 

A hundred lashes, each tearing or laying bare the flesh, were 
inflicted ; but after the first, all sensibility to pain was lost 
in the intensity of my emotions. Had 1 been changed into a 
statue of bronze I could not have been more impenetrable to 
pain. 

“ Now, sir,” said the slave lord, coming up to me, “ you see 
what it is to cross the path of Carberry Ratcliff. The next 
time you venture on it, you won’t get off so easy.” 

Then, turning to Vickery, he 3aid : “ I promised the boys 
they should have a frolic with him, and see him safely launched. 
They have been longing for a shy at an Abolitionist. So un- 
shackle him, and let him slide.” 

My handcuffs and shackles were taken off. My first impulse 
on being freed, was to spring upon Ratcliff and strangle him. 
I could have done it. Though I stood in a pool of my own 
blood, a preternatural energy filled my veins, and I stepped 
forth as if just refreshed by sleep. But the thought of Estelle 
checked the vindictive impulse. A rope was now put about 
my neck, so that the two ends could be held by my conductors.. 
In this state I was led up-stairs out of the building, and beyond 
the immediate enclosure of the grounds about the house to a 
sort of trivium, where some fifty or sixty “ mean whites ” and 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


141 


a troop of boys of all colors were assembled round a tent in 
which a negro was dealing out whiskey gratis to the company. 
Near by stood a kettle sending forth a strong odor of boiling 
tar. A large sack, the gaping mouth of which showed it was 
filled with feathers, lay on the ground. 

There was a yell of delight from the assembly as soon as I 
appeared. Half naked as I was, I was dragged forward into 
their midst, and tied to a tree near the kettle. I could see, at 
a distance of about a quarter of a mile, Ratcliff promenading 
his piazza. 

There was a dispute among the “chivalry” whether I should 
be stripped of the only remaining article of dress, my panta- 
loons, before being “ fitted to a new suit.” The consideration 
that there might be ladies among the distant spectators finally 
operated in my favor. A brush, similar to that used in white- 
washing, was now thrust into the bituminous liquid ; and an 
illustration of one of “ our institutions, sir,” was entered upon 
with enthusiasm. Lovell was the chief operator. The brush 
was first thrust into my face till eyelids, eyebrows, and hair 
were glued by the nauseous adhesion. Then it was vigorously 
applied to the bleeding seams on my back, and the intolerable 
anguish almost made me faint. My entire person at length 
being thickly smeared, the bag of feathers was lifted over me 
by two men and its contents poured out over the tarred surface. 

I will not pain you, my friends, by suggesting to your imagi- 
nation all that there is of horrible, agonizing, and disgusting in 
this operation, which men, converted into fiends by the hard- 
ening influences of slavery, have inflicted on so many hundreds 
of imprudent or suspected persons from the Northern States. 
I see in it all now, so far as I was concerned, a Providential 
martyrdom to awake me to a sense of what slavery does for 
the education of white men. 

O, ye palliators of the “ institution ” ! — Northern men with 
Southern principles, — ministers of religion who search the 
Scriptures to find excuses for the Devil’s own work, — and ye 
who think that any system under which money is made must 
be right, and of God’s appointment, — who hate any agitation 
which is likely to diminish the dividends from your cotton-mills 
or the snug profits from your Southern trade, — come and learn 


142 


PECULIAR. 


what it is to be tarred and feathered for profaning, by thought 
or act, or by suspected thought or act, that holy of holies called 
slavery ! 

After the feathers had been applied, a wag among my tor- 
mentors fixed to my neck and arms pieces of an old sheet 
stretched on whalebone to imitate a pair of wings. This spec- 
tacle afforded to the spectators the climax of their exhilaration 
and delight. I was then led by a rope to the river’s side and 
put on an old rickety raft where I had to use constant vigi- 
lance to keep the loose planks from disparting. Two men in a 
boat towed me out into the middle of the stream, and then, 
amid mock cheers, I was left to drift down with the current or 
drown, just as the chances might hold in regard to my strength. 

Two thoughts sustained me ; one Estelle, the other Ratcliff. 
But for these, with all my youth and power of endurance, I 
should have sunk and died under my sufferings. For nearly 
an hour I remained within sight of the mocking, hooting crowd, 
who were especially amused at my efforts to save myself from 
immersion by keeping the pieces of my raft together. At 
length it was floated against a shallow where some brushwood 
and loose sticks had formed a sort of dam. The sun was sink- 
ing through wild, ragged clouds in the west. My tormentors 
had all gradually disappeared. For the last thirty-six hours I 
had eaten nothing but a cracker. My eyes were clogged with 
tar. My efforts in keeping the raft together had been exhaust- 
ive. No sooner was I in a place of seeming safety than my 
strength failed me all at once. I could no longer sit upright. 
The wind freshened and the waves poured over me, almost 
drowning me at times. Thicker vapors began to darken the 
sky. A storm was rising. Night came down frowningly. The 
planks slipped from under me. I could not lift an arm to stop 
them. I tried to seize the brushwood heaped on the sand-bar, 
but it was easily detached, and offered me no security. I 
seemed to be sinking in the ooze of the river’s bottom. The 
spray swept over me in ever-increasing volume. I was on the 
verge of unconsciousness. 

Suddenly I roused myself, and grasped the last plank of my 
raft. I had heard a cry. I listened. The cry was repeated, 
— a loud halloo, as if from some one afloat in an approaching 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


143 


skiff. I could see nothing, but I lifted my head as well as I 
could, and cried out, “ Here ! ” Again* the halloo, and this time 
it sounded nearer. I threw my whole strength into one loud 
shriek of “ Here ! ” and then sank exhausted. A rush of waves 
swept over me, and my consciousness was suspended. 


When I came to my senses, I lay on a small cot-bedstead in 
a hut. A negro, whom I at once recognized as the man called 
Peek, was rubbing my face and limbs with oil and soap. A 
smell of alcohol and other volatile liquids pervaded the apart- 
ment. Much of my hair had been cut off in the effort to rid 
it of the tar. 

“ Estelle, — where is she ? ” were my first words. 

“ You shall see her soon,” replied the negro. “ But you 
must get a little strength first.” 

He spoke in the tones, and used the language, of an educated 
person. He brought me a little broth and rice, which I swal- 
lowed eagerly. I tried to rise, but the pain from the gashes 
left by the scourge on my back was excruciating. 

“ Take me to my wife,” I murmured. 

He lifted me in his arms and carried me to the open door of 
an adjoining cabin. Here on a mattress lay Estelle. A colored 
woman of remarkable aspect, and with straight black hair, was 
kneeling by her side. This woman Peek addressed as Esha. 
The little plain gold cross which Estelle used to wear on the 
ribbon round her neck was now made to serve as the emblem 
of one of the last sacraments of her religion. At her request, 
Esha held it, pinned to the ribbon, before her eyes. On a rude 
table near by, two candles were burning. Estelle’s hands were 
clasped upon her bosom, and she lay intently regarding the 
cross, while her lips moved in prayer* 

“ Try to lib, darlin’,” interrupted Esha ; “ try to lib, — dat ’s 
a good darlin’ ! Only try, an’ yer kn do it easy.” 

Estelle took the little cross in her hand and kissed it, then 
said to Esha, “ Give this, with a lock of my hair, to — ” 

Before she could pronounce my name, I rallied my strength, 
and, with an irrepressible cry of grief, quitted Peek’s support, 


144 


PECULIAR. 


and rushed to her' side. I spoke her name. I took her dear 
head in my hands. She turned on me eyes beaming with an 
immortal affection. A celestial smile irradiated her face. Her 
lips pouted as if pleading for a kiss. I obeyed the invitation, 
and she acknowledged my compliance by an affirmative motion 
of the head ; a motion that was playful even in that supreme 
moment. 

“ My own darling ! ” she murmured ; “ I knew you would 
come. O my poor, suffering darling ! ” 

Then, with a sudden effort, she threw her arms about my 
neck, and, drawing me closer down to her bosom, said, in sweet, 
low tones of tenderness : “ Love me still as among the living. 
I do not die. The body dies. I do not die. Love cannot 
die. Who believes in death, never loved. You may not see 
me , but I shall see you. So be a good boy. Do good to 
all. Love all ; so shall you love me the better. I do not 
part with my love. I take it where it will grow and grow, so 
as to be all the more fit to welcome my darling. Carrying my 
love, I carry my heaven with me. It would not be heaven 
without my love. I have been with my father and mother. 
So beautiful they are ! And such music I have heard ! There ! 
Lay your cheek on my bare bosom. So ! You do not hurt me. 
Closer ! closer ! Carissime Jesu , nunc libera me / ” * 

Thus murmuring a line from a Latin poem which she had 
learnt in the convent where her childhood was passed, her pure 
spirit, without a struggle or a throe of pain, disentangled itself 
from its lovely mortal mould, and rose into the purer ether of 
the immortal life. 


I afterwards learnt that Ratcliff, finding Estelle inexorable 
in her rejection of his foul proffers, was wrought to such a 
pitch of rage that he swore, unless she relented, she should be 
married to a negro slave. He told her he had a smart nigger 

* The line is from the following prayer, attributed to Mary, Queen of Scots : — 
“ 0 domine D6us, speravi in Te ; 

Carissime Jesu, nunc libera me! 

In dura catena, in misera poena, 

Desidero Te! 

Languendo, gemendo, et genuflectendo, 

Adoro, imploro, ut libere3 me.” 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


145 


he had recently bought in New Orleans, a fellow named Peek, 
who should be her husband. Goaded to desperation by his 
infamous threats, Estelle had replied, “ Better even a negro 
than a Ratcliff ! ” This reply had stung him to a degree that 
was quite intolerable. 

To be not only thwarted by a female slave, but insulted, — 
he, a South Carolinian, a man born to command, — a man with 
such a figure and such a face rejected for a strolling actor, — 
a vagabond, a fellow, too, who had knocked him down, — what 
slave-owner would tamely submit to such mortification ! He 
brooded on the insult till his cruel purpose took shape and con- 
sistency in his mind ; and it was finally carried out in the way 
I have described. 

It may seem almost incredible to you who are from the 
North, that any man not insane should be guilty of such atroci- 
ties. But Mr. Onslow need not be told that slavery educates 
men — men, too, of a certain refinement — to deeds even more 
cowardly and fiendish. Do not imagine that the tyrant who 
would not scruple to put a black skin under the lash, would 
hesitate in regard to a white ; and the note-book of many 
an overseer will show that of the whippings inflicted under 
slavery, more than one third are of women.* 

For three weeks I was under Peek’s care. Thanks to his 
tenderness and zeal, my wounds were healed, my strength was 
restored. Early in December I parted from him and returned 
to New Orleans. I went to my old friends, the Leroux. They 
did not recognize me at first, so wasted was I by suffering. 
Madame forgot her own troubles in mine, and welcomed me 
with a mother’s affection. The grandchildren subdued their 
riotous mirth, and trod softly lest they should disturb me. The 
old Captain wept and raved over my story, and uttered more 
sacr-r-r-res in a given time than I supposed even a French- 
man’s volubility could accomplish. I bade these kind friends 
good by, and went northward. 

In Cincinnati and other cities I resumed- my old vocation as 
a play-actor. In two years, having laid up twenty-five hundred 

* Some of these note-books have been brought to light by the civil war, 
and a quotation from one of them will be found on another page of this work. 

7 J 


146 


PECULIAR. 


dollars, I returned to tlie Red River country to secure the 
freedom of the slave to whom I owed my life. He had changed 
masters. It had got to Ratcliff’s ears that Peek had cheated 
him in sparing Estelle and rescuing me. Pie questioned Peek 
on the subject. Peek, throwing aside all his habitual caution, 
had declared, in regard to Estelle, that if she had been the Virgin 
Mary he could not have treated her with more reverence ; that 
he had saved my life, and restored me to her arms. Then, 
shaking his fist at Ratcliff, he denounced ’him as a murderer 
and a coward. The result was, that Peek, after having been 
put through such a scourging as few men could endure and 
survive, had been sold to a Mr. Barnwell in Texas. 

I followed Peek to his new abode, and proposed either to 
buy and free him, or to aid him to escape. He bade me save 
my money for those who could not help themselves. He meant 
to be free, but did not mean to pay for that which was his 
by right. At that time he was investigating certain strange 
occurrences produced by some invisible agency that claimed to 
be spiritual. He must remain where he was a while longer. 
I was under no serious obligations to him, he said. He 
had simply done his duty. 

We parted. I tried to find the woman Esha, who had been 
kind to my wife, but she had been sold no one knew to whom. 
I went to New Orleans, and assuming, by legislative permission, 
the name of William Vance, I entered into cotton speculations. 

My features had been so changed by suffering, that few 
recognized me. My operations were bold and successful. In 
four years I had accumulated a little fortune. Occasionally I 
would meet Ratcliff. Once I had him completely in my 
power. He was in the passage-way leading to my office. 
I could have dragged him in and — 

No ! The revenge seemed too poor and narrow. I craved 
something huge and general. The mere punishing of an 
individual was too puny an expenditure of my hoarded ven- 
geance. But to strike at the “ institution ” which had spawned 
this and similar monsters, that would be some small satisfac- 
tion. 

Closing up my affairs in New Orleans, I entered upon that 
career which has gained me such notoriety in the Southwest. 


THE STORY OF ESTELLE. 


147 


.1 have run off many thousand slaves, worth in the aggregate 
many millions of dollars. My theatrical experience has made 
me a daring expert in disguising myself. At one time I am a 
mulatto with a gash across my face ; at another time, an old 
man ; at another, a mean whiskey-swilling hanger-on of the 
chivalry. My task is only just begun. It is not till we have 
given slavery its immedicable wound, or rather till it has 
itself committed suicide in the house of its friends, that I shall 
be ready to say, Nunc dimittas, domi-ne ! * 

* Should any person question the probability of the incidents in Yance’s 
narrative, we would refer him to the “ Letter to Thomas Carlyle ” in the 
Atlantic Monthly for October, 1863. On page 501, we find the following: 
“ Within the past year, a document has come into my hands. It is the 
private diary of a most eminent and respectable slaveholder, recently de- 
ceased. The chances of war threw it into the hands of our troops 

One item I must have the courage to suggest more definitely. Having 
bidden a young slave-girl (whose name, age, color, &c., with the shame- 
less precision that marks the entire document, are given) to attend upon 
his brutal pleasure, and she silently remaining away, he writes, ‘ Next morn- 
ing ordered her a dozen lashes for disobedience.’ ” In a foot-note to the 
above we are assured by Messrs. Ticknor and Fields that the author of 
the letter is “ one whose word is not and cannot be called in question ; and 
he pledges his word that the above is exact and proven fact.” 


148 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

FIRE UP ! 

“ What is the end and essence of life ? It is to expand all our faculties and affections. 
It is to grow, to gain by exercise new energy, new intellect, new love. It is to hope, to 
strive, to bring out what is within us, to press towards what is above us. In other 
words, it is to be Free. Slavery is thus at war with the true life of human nature.” — 
Charming. 

A T the conclusion of Vance’s narrative, Mr. Onslow rose, 
shook him by the hand, and walked away without mak- 
ing a remark. 

Mrs. Berwick showed her appreciation by her tears. 

“ What a pity,” said her husband, “ that so fine a fellow as 
Peek did not accept your proposal to free him ! ” 

“ Peek freed himself,” replied Vance. “ He escaped to 
Canada, married, settled in New York, and was living happily, 
when a few days ago, rather than go before a United States 
Commissioner, he surrendered himself to that representative 
of the master race, Colonel Delaney Hyde, to whom you have 
had the honor to be introduced. Peek is now on board this 
boat, and handcuffed, lest he should jump overboard and swim 
ashore. If you will walk forward, I will show him to you.” 

Greatly surprised and interested, the Berwicks followed 
Vance to the railing, and looked down on Peek as he reclined 
in the sunshine reading a newspaper. 

“ But he must be freed. I will buy him,” said Berwick. 

“ Don’t trouble yourself,” returned Vance. “ Peek will be 
free without money and without price, and he knows it. Those 
iron wristbands you see are already filed apart.” 

“ Are there many such as he among the negroes ? ” 

“ Not many, I fear, either among blacks or whites,” replied 
Vance. “ But, considering their social deprivations, there are 
more good men and true amon" the negroes — ay, among the 
slaves — than you of the Nortn imagine. Your ideal of the 
negro is what you derive from the Ethiopian minstrels and 
from the books and plays written to ridicule him. His type 


FIRE UP! 


149 


is a low, ignorant trifler and buffoon, unfit to be other than a 
slave or an outcast. Thus, by your injurious estimate, you lend 
yourselves to the support and justification of slavery.” 

“ Would you admit the black to a social equality ?” 

“ I would admit him,” replied Vance, “ to all the civil rights 
of the white. There are many men whom I am willing to ac- 
knowledge my equals, whose society I may not covet. That 
does not at all affect the question of their rights. Let us give 
the black man a fair field. Let us not begin by declaring his 
inferiority in capacity, and then anxiously strive to prevent his 
finding a chance to prove our declaration untrue.” 

“ But would you favor the amalgamation of the races ? ” 

“ That is a question for physiologists ; or, perhaps, for indi- 
vidual instincts. Probably if all the slaves were emancipated 
in all the Cotton States, amalgamation would be much less than 
it is now. The French Quadroons are handsome and healthy, 
and are believed to be more vigorous than either of the parent 
races from which they are descended.” 

“ Many of the most strenuous opponents of emancipation 
base their objections on their fears of amalgamation.” 

“ To which,” replied Vance, “ I will reply in these words of 
one of your Northern divines, ‘ What a strange reason for op - 
pressing a race of fellow-beings , that if we restore them to their 
rights we shall marry them ! ’ Many of these men who cry out 
the loudest against amalgamation keep colored mistresses, and 
practically confute their own protests. To marriage, but not 
to concubinage, they object.” 

“ I see no way for emancipation,” said Berwick, “ except 
through the consent of the Slave States.” 

“ God will find a way,” returned Vance. “ He infatuates 
before he destroys ; and the infatuation which foreruns destruc- 
tion ha s seized upon the leading men of the South. Plagiariz- 
ing from Satan, they have said to slavery, ‘ Evil, be thou our 
good ! ’ They are bent on having a Southern Confederacy with 
power to extend slavery through Mexico into Central America. 
That can never be attempted without civil war, and civil war 
will be the end of slavery.” 

“ Would you not,” asked Berwick, “ compensate those mas- 
ters who are willing to emancipate their slaves ? ” 


150 


PECULIAR. 


“ I deny,” said Vance, “ that property in slaves can morally 
exist. No decision of the State can absolve me from the moral 
law. It is a sham and a lie to say that man can hold property 
in man. The right to make the black man a slave implies the 
right to make you or me a slave. No legislation can make 
such a claim valid. No vote of a majority can make an act of 
tyranny right, — can convert an innocent man into a chattel. 
All the world may cry out it is right, but they cannot make it 
so. The slaveholder, in emancipating his slave, merely sur- 
renders what is not his own. I would be as liberal to him in 
the way of encouragement as the public means would justify. 
But the loss of the planter from emancipation is greatly over 
estimated. His land would soon double in value by the act ; 
and the colored freedmen would be on the soil, candidates for 
wages, and with incentives to labor they never had before.” 

The bell for dinner broke in upon the conversation. It was 
not till evening that the parties met again on the upper deck. 

“I have been talking with Peek,” said Berwick, “and to 
my dismay I find he was betrayed by the husband of my 
step-mother. You must help me cancel this infernal wrong.” 

“ I have laid my plans for taking all these negroes ashore at 
midnight at our next stopping-place,” replied Vance. “ I am 
to personate their owner. The keepers of the boat, who have 
seen me so much with Hyde, will offer no opposition. He is 
already so drunk that we have had to put him to bed. He 
begged me to look after his niggers. Whiskey had made him 
sentimental. He wept maudlin tears, and wanted to kiss me.” 

“ Here ’s a check,” said Berwick, “ for twenty-five hundred 
dollars. Give it to Peek the moment he is free.” 

Vance placed it in a small water-proof wallet. 

What ’s the matter ? 

A rush and a commotion on the deck ! Captain Crane left 
the wheel-house, and jumped over the railing down to the lower 
deck forward, his mouth bubbling and foaming with oaths. 

There had been a slackening of the fires, and the Champion 
was all at once found to be fast gaining on the Pontiac. 

“ Fire up ! ” yelled the Captain. “ Pile on the turpentine 
splinters. Bring up the rosin. Blast yer all for a set of cow- 
ardly cusses ! I ’m bound to land yer either in Helena or hell, 
ahead of the Champion.” 


WAITING FOR THE SUMMONEB. 


151 


CHAPTER XIV. 
WAITING FOR THE SUMMONER. 


“ So every spirit, as it is more pure, 

And hath in it the more of heavenly light, 

So it the fairer body doth procure, 

To habit in, and it more fairly dight 
With cheerful grace and amiable sight. 

For of the soul the body form doth take, 

For soul is form, and doth the body make.” 

Edmund Spenser . 

I N the best chamber of the house of Pierre Toussaint in 
Franklin Street, looking out on blossoming grape-vines and 
a nectarine-tree in the area, sat Mrs. Charlton in an arm-chair, 
and propped by pillows. Her wasted features showed that 
disease had made rapid progress since the glance we had of her 
in the mirror. 

A knock at the door was followed by the entrance of Tous- 
saint. 

“ Well, Toussaint, what ’s the news to-day ? ” asked the in- 
valid. 

Toussaint replied in French : ^ I do not find much of new in 
the morning papers, madame. Is madame ready for her break- 
fast?” 

“ Yes, any time now. I see my little Lulu is washing him- 
self.” 

Lulu was the canary-bird. Toussaint quitted the room and 
returned in a few minutes, bringing in a tray, spread with the 
whitest of napkins, and holding a silver urn of boiling water, a 
pitcher of cream, and two little shining pots, one filled with 
coffee, the other with tea. The viands were a small roll, with 
butter, an omelette, and a piece of fresh-broiled salmon. 

“ Sit down and talk with me, Toussaint, while I eat,” said 
the invalid. “ Have you seen my husband lately ? ” 

“ Not, madame, since he called to recover the box.” 

“ Has he sent to make inquiry in regard to my health ? ” 


152 


PECULIAR. 


“ Not once, to my knowledge.” 

“ I cannot reconcile my husband’s indifference with his fond- 
ness for money. He must know that my death will deprive 
him of twelve hundred a year. How do you account for it, 
Toussaint? ” 

“ Pardon me, madame, but I would rather not say.” 

“And why not?” 

“ My surmise may be uncharitable, or it might give you pain.” 

“ Do not fear that, Toussaint. I have surrendered what 
they say is the last thing a woman surrenders, — all personal 
vanity. So speak freely.” 

“ Mr. Charlton is young and good-looking, madame, and he 
is probably well aware that, in the event of his being left a 
widower, it would not be difficult for him to form a marriage 
connection that would bring him a much larger income than 
that you supply.” 

“ Nothing more likely, Toussaint. How strange that I can 
talk of these things so calmly, — eating my breakfast, thus ! 
They say that a woman who has once truly loved must always 
love. What do you think, Toussaint ? ” 

“ This, madame, that if we love a thing because we think it 
good, and then find, on trial, that it is not good, but very bad, 
our love cannot continue the same.” 

“But do we not, in marriage, promise to love, honor, and 
obey ? ” f 

“ Not by the Catholic form, madame. Try to force love, you 
kill it. It is like trying to force an appetite. You make your- 
self sick at the stomach in the attempt.” 

Here there was a ring at the door-bell, and Toussaint left 
the room. On his return he said : “ The husband of madame 
is below. He wishes to speak with madame.” 

Surprised and disturbed, Mrs. Charlton said, “ Take away 
the breakfast things.” 

“ But madame has not touched the salmon nor the omelette, 
and only a poor little bit of the crust of this roll,” murmured 
Toussaint. 

“ I have had enough, my good Toussaint. Take them away, 
and let Mr. Charlton come in.” 

Then, as if by way of contradicting what she had said a 


WAITING FOR THE SU&MONER. 


153 


moment before, slie began smoothing her hair and arranging 
her shawl. The inconsistency between her practice and her 
profession seemed to suggest itself to her suddenly, for she 
smiled sadly, and murmured, “After all, I have not quite out- 
lived my folly ! ” 

Charlton entered unaccompanied. His manner was that of 
a man who has a big scheme in his head, which he is trying to 
disguise and undervalue. Moved by an unwonted excitement, 
he strove to appear calm and indifferent, but, like a bad actor, 
he overdid his part. 

“ I have come, Emily,” said he, “ to ask your pardon for the 
past.” 

“ Indeed ! Then you want something. What can I do for 
you ? ” 

“ You misapprehend me, my dear. Affairs have gone wrong 
with me of late ; but my prospects are brightening now, and my 
wish is that you should have the benefit of the change.” 

“ My time for this world’s benefits is likely to be short,” said 
the invalid. 

“ Not so, my dear ! You are looking ten per cent better than 
when I saw you last.” 

“ My glass tells me you do not speak truly in that. Come, 
deal frankly with me. What do you want ? ” 

“As I was saying, my love,” resumed Charlton, “ my business 
is improving; but I need a somewhat more extended credit, 
and you can help me to it.” 

“ I thought there was something wanted,” returned the ip- 
valid, with a scornful smile ; “ but you overrate my ability. 
How can I help your credit ? The annuity allowed by Mr. 
Berwick ends with my life. I have no property, real or per- 
sonal, — except my canary-bird, and what few clothes you can 
find in yonder wardrobe.” 

“ But, my dear,” urged Charlton, “ many persons imagine 
that you have property; and if I could only show them an 
authenticated instrument under which you bequeath, in the 
event of your death, all your estate*, real and personal, to your 
husband, it would aid me materially in raising money.” 

“ That, sir, would be raising money under false pretences. 
I shall lend myself to no such attempt. Why not tell the 
7 * 


154 


PECULIAR. 


money-lenders the truth? Why not tell them your wife 
has nothing except what she receives from the charity of her 
Btep-son ? ” 

Enraged at seeing how completely his victim had thrown off 
his influence, and at the same time indulging a vague hope that 
he might recover it, Charlton’s lips began to work as if he were 
hesitating whether to try his old game of browbeating or to 
adopt a conciliatory course. A suspicion that the lady was 
disenchanted, and no longer subject to any spell he could throw 
upon her, led him to fall back on the more prudent policy ; and 
he replied: “I have concealed nothing from the parties with 
whom I am negotiating. I have told them the precise situation 
of our affairs ; but they have urged this contingency : your 
wife, it is true, is dependent, but her rich relatives may die and 
leave her a bequest. We will give you the money you want, 
if you will satisfy us that you are her heir.” 

“ You fatigue me,” said the invalid. “ You wish me to make 
a will in your favor. You have the instruments all drawn up 
and ready for my signature in your pocket ; and on the oppo- 
site side of the street you have three men in waiting who may 
serve as witnesses.” 

“ But who told you this ? ” exclaimed Charlton, confounded. 

“ Your own brain by its motions told it,” replied the wife. 
“I am rather sensitive to impressions, you see. Strike one 
of the chords of a musical instrument, and a corresponding 
chord in its duplicate near by will be agitated. Your drift is 
apparent. The illusions under which I have labored in regard 
to you have vanished, never, never to return ! How I deferred 
the moment of final, irrevocable estrangement ! How I strove, 
by meekness, love, and devotion, to win you to the better 
choice ! How I shut my eyes to your sordid traits ! But now 
the infatuation is ended. You are powerless to wound or to 
move me. The love you spurned has changed, not to hate, but 
to indifference. Free to choose between God and Mammon, 
you have chosen Mammon, and nothing I can say can make 
you reconsider your election.” 

“You do me injustice, my wife, my dearest — ” 

“ Psha ! Do not blaspheme. We understand each other 
at last. Now to business. You want me to sign a will in your 


WAITING FOR THE SUMMONER. 


155 


fator, leaving you all the property I may be possessed of at 
the time of my death. Would you know when that time 
will be?” 

“ Do not speak so, Emily,” said Charlton, in tones meant to 
be pathetic. 

“ It may be an agreeable surprise to you,” continued the 
invalid, “ to learn that my time in this world will be up the 
tenth of next month. I will sign the will, on one condition.” 

“ Name it ! ” said Charlton, eagerly. 

“ The condition is, that you pay Toussaint a thousand dollars 
cash down as an indemnity for the expense he has been at 
on my account, and to cover the costs of my funeral.” 

With difficulty Charlton curbed his rage so far as to be 
content with the simple utterance, “ Impossible ! ” 

“ Then please go,” said the invalid, taking up a silver bell to 
ring it. 

“ Stop ! stop ! ” cried Charlton. “ Give me a minute to con- 
sider. Three hundred dollars will more than cover all the 
expenses, — medical attendance, undertaker’s charges, — all. 
At least, I know an undertaker who charges less than half 
what such fellows as Brown of Grace pile on. Say three hun- 
dred dollars.” 

With a smile of indescribable scorn, the invalid touched the 
bell. 

“ Stop ! We ’ll call it five hundred,” groaned the convey- 
ancer. 

A louder ring by the lady, and the old negro’s step was heard 
on the stairs. 

“ Seven hundred, — eight hundred : O, I could n’t possibly 
afford more than eight hundred!” said Charlton, in a tone 
the pathos of which was no longer feigned. 

The invalid now rang the bell with energy. 

“ It shall be a thousand, then ! ” exclaimed Charlton, just as 
Toussaint entered the room. 

“ Toussaint,” said the invalid, “ Mr. Charlton has a paper he 
wishes me to sign. I have promised to do it on his paying you 
a thousand dollars. Accept it without demur. Do you under- 
stand ? ” 

Toussaint bowed his assent ; and Charlton, leaving the room, 


156 


PECULIAR. 


returned with his three witnesses. The sum stipulated was 
paid to Toussaint, and the will was duly signed and witnessed. 
Possessed of the document, Charlton’s first impulse was to vent 
his wrath upon his wife ; but he discreetly remembered that, 
while life remained, it was in her power to revoke what she had 
done ; so he dismissed his witnesses, and began to play the 
fawner once more. But he was checked abruptly. 

“ There ! you weary me. Go, if you please,” said she. 
“ If I have occasion, I will send for you.” 

“ May I not call daily to see how you are getting on ? ” 
whined Charlton. 

“ I really don’t see any use in it,” replied the invalid. “ If 
you will look in the newspapers under the obituary head the 
eleventh or twelfth of next month, you will probably get all the 
information in regard to me that will be important.” 

“ Cruel and unjust ! ” said the husband. “ Have you no 
forgiveness in your heart ? ” 

“ Forgiveness ? Trampled on, my heart has given out love 
and duty in the hope of finding some spot in your own heart 
which avarice and self-seeking had not yet petrified. But I 
despair of doing aught to change your nature. I must leave 
you to God and circumstance. Neither you nor any other 
offender shall lack my forgiveness, however ; for in that I only 
give what I supremely need. Farewell.” 

“ Good by, since you will not let me try to make amends for 
the past,” said Charlton ; and he quitted the room. 

Half sorry for her own harshness, and thinking she might 
have misjudged her husband’s present feelings, the invalid got 
Toussaint to help her into the next room, where she could look 
through the blinds. No sooner was Charlton in the street than 
he drew from his pocket the will, and walked slowly on as if 
feasting his eyes on its contents. With a gesture of exultation, 
he finally returned the paper to his pocket, and strode briskly 
up the street to Broadway. 

“ You see ! ” said the invalid, bitterly. “ And I loved that 
man once ! And there are worthy people who would say I 
ought to love him still. Love him ? Tell my little Lulu to 
love a cat or a hawk. How can I love what I find on testing 
to be repugnant to my own nature ? Tell me, Toussaint, does 


WAITING FOR THE SUMMONER. 


157 


God require we should love what we know to be impure, 
unjust, cruel ? ” 

“ Ah, madame, the good God, I suppose, would have us love 
the wicked so far as to help them to get rid of their wick- 
edness.” 

“ But there are some who will not be helped,” said the in- 
valid. “ Take the wickedness out of some persons, and we 
should deprive them of their very individuality, and practically 
annihilate them.” 

“ God knows,” replied Toussaint ; “ time is short, and eternity 
is long, — long enough, perhaps, to bleach the filthiest nature, 
with Christ’s help.” 

“ Right, Toussaint. What claim have I to judge of the 
capacities for redemption in a human soul ? But there, is a 
terrible mystery to me in these false conjunctions of man and 
woman. Why should the loving be united to the unloving and 
the brutal?” 

“ Simply, madame, because this is earth, and not heaven. 
In the next life all masks must be dropped. What will the 
hypocrite and the impostor do then ? Then the loving will 
find the loving, and the pure will find the pure. Then our 
bodies will be fair or ugly, black or white, according to our 
characters.” 

“ I believe it ! ” exclaimed the invalid. “ Yes, there is an 
infinite compassion over all. God lives, and the soul does not 
die, and the mistakes, the infelicities, the shortcomings of this 
life shall be as fuel to kindle our aspirations and illumine our 
path in another stage of being.” 

Here a clamorous newsboy stopped on the other side of the 
way to sell a gentleman an Extra. 

“ What is that boy crying ? ” asked the invalid. 

“A great steamboat accident on the Mississippi,” replied 
Toussaint. 


158 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XV. 
WHO SHALL BE HEIR? 


“I care not, Fortune, what you me deny, 

You cannot rob me of free Nature’s grace ; 

You cannot shut the windows of the sky, 

Through which Aurora shows her brightening face.” 

Thomson . 


W HEN we parted from Mr. Pompilard, he was trying to 
negotiate a mortgage for thirty thousand dollars on 
some real estate belonging to his wife. This mortgage was 
effected without recourse to the Berwicks, as was also a 
second mortgage of five thousand dollars, which left the prop- 
erty so encumbered that no further supply could be raised 
from it. 

The money thus obtained Mr. Pompilard forthwith cast 
upon the waters of that great financial maelstrom in Wall 
Street which swallows so many fortunes. This time he lost ; 
and our story now finds him and his family established in the 
poorer half of a double house, wooden, and of very humble pre- 
tensions, situated hi Harlem, some seven or eight miles from 
the heart of the great metropolis. Compared with the princely 
seat he once occupied on the Hudson, what a poor little den it 
was ! 

A warm, almost sultry noon in May was brooding over the 
unpaved street. The peach-trees showed their pink blossoms, 
and the pear-trees their white, in the neighboring enclosures. 
All that Mr. Pompilard could look out upon in his poor, nar- 
row little area was a clothes-line and a few tufts of grass with 
the bald soil interspersed. Yet there in his little back parlor 
he sat reading the last new novel. 

Suddenly he heard cries of murder in the other half of his 
domicil. Throwing down his book, he went out through the 
open window, and, stepping on a little plank walk dignified 
with the name of a piazza, put his legs over a low railing and 


WHO SHALL BE HEIR? 


159 


passed into his neighbor’s house. That neighbor was an Irish 
tailor of the name of Pat Maloney, a little fellow with carroty 
whiskers and features intensely Hibernian. 

On inquiring into the cause of the outcry, Pompilard learned 
that Maloney was only “ larruping the ould woman with a bit 
of a leather strap, yer honor.” Mrs. Maloney excused her 
husband, protesting that he was the best fellow in the world, 
except when he had been drinking, which was the case that 
day ; “ and not a bad excuse for it there was, your honor, for a 
band of Irish patriots had landed that blessed morning, and 
Pat had only helped wilcom them dacently, which was the 
cause of his taking a drap too much.” 

With an air of deference that he might have practised 
towards a grand-duchess, Pompilard begged pardon for his 
intrusion, and passed out, leaving poor Pat and his wife 
stunned by the imposing vision. 

No sooner had Pompilard resumed his romance, than the 
dulcet strains of a hand-organ under the opposite window so- 
licited his ear. Pompilard was a patron of hand-organs ; he 
had a theory that they encouraged a taste for music among the 
humbler classes. The present organ was rich-toned, and was 
giving forth the then popular and always charming melody of 
“ Love Not.” Pompilard grew sentimental, and put his hand 
in his pocket for a quarter of a dollar ; but no quarter respond- 
ed to the touch of his fingers. He called his wife. 

Enter a small middle-aged lady, dressed in white muslin 
over a blue under-robe, with ribbons streaming in all direc- 
tions. She was followed by Antoinette, or Netty, as she was 
generally called, a little elfish-looking maiden, six or seven 
years old, with her hands thrust jauntily into the pockets of 
her apron, and her bright beady eyes glancing about as if in 
search of mischief. 

“Lend me a quarter, my dear, for the organ-man,” said 
Pompilard. 

“ Ah ! there you have me at a disadvantage, husband,” said 
the lady. “ Do you know I don’t believe ten cents could be 
raised in the whole house ? ” 

And the lady laughed, as if she regarded the circumstance 
as an excellent joke. The child, taking her cue from the 


160 


PECULIAR. 


mother, screamed with delight. Then, imitating the sound of a 
bumble-bee, she made her father start up, afraid he was going 
to be stung. This put the climax to her merriment, and she 
threw herself on the sofa in a paroxysm. 

What a little devil it is ! ” exclaimed Pompilard, proudly 
smiling on his offspring. « Is it possible that no one in the 
house has so much as a quarter of a dollar ? Where are the 
girls ? Girls ! ” 


His call brought down from up-stairs his two eldest, children 
of his first wife, one, Angelica Ireton, a widow, whose per- 
plexity was how to prevent herself from becoming fat, for 
she was already fair and forty ; the other, Melissa (by Netty 
nicknamed Molasses), a sentimentalist of twenty-five, affianced, 
since her father’s last financial downfall, to Mr. Cecil Purling 
a gentleman five years her senior, who labored under the de- 
lusion that he was born to be an author, and who kept on 
ruining publishers by writing the most ingeniously unsalable 
books. Angelica had a son with the army in Mexico, and two 
little girls, Julia and Mary, older than Netty, but over whom 
she exercised absolute authority by keeping them constantly 
informed that she was their aunt. 

Angelica was found to have in her purse the sum required 
for the organ-man. Pompilard took it, and started for the 
door, when a prolonged feline cry made him suppose he had 
trodden on the kitten. « Poor Puss ! ” he exclaimed ; “ where 
the deuce are you?” He looked under the sofa, and an out- 
burst of impish laughter told him he had been tricked a second 
time by his little girl. 

“That child will be kidnapped yet by the circus people,” 
said Pompilard, complacently. “ Where did she learn all these 
accomplishments ? ” 


* Of the children in the next house, I believe,” said Mrs. 
Pompilard ; “ or else of the sailors on the river, for she is con- 
stantly at the water-side watching the vessels, and tryino- to 
make pictures of them.” J ° 

Pompilard went to the door, paid the organ-grinder, and re- 
entered the room with an “ Extra” which the grateful itinerant 
had presented to him. 

“ What have we here ? ” said Pompilard ; and he read from 


WHO SHALL BE HEIR? 


161 


the paper the announcement of a terrible steamboat accident, 
which had occurred on the night of the Wednesday previous, 
on the Mississippi. 

“ This is very surprising, — very surprising indeed,” he ex- 
claimed. “ My dear, it appears from — ” 

The noise of a dog yelping, as if his leg had been suddenly 
broken by a stone, here interrupted him. He rushed to the 
window. No dog was there. 

“ Will that little goblin never be out of mischief? Take 
her away, Molasses,” said the secretly delighted father. Then, 
resuming his seat, he continued : “ It appears from this account, 
wife, that among the passengers killed by this great steamboat 
explosion were your niece Leonora Berwick, her husband, and 
child. Did she have more than one child ? ” 

“ Not that I know of,” said Mrs. Pompilard. “ Is poor Leo- 
nora blown up ? That is very hard indeed. But I never set 
eyes on her, — though I have her photograph, — and I shall not 
pretend to grieve for one I never saw. My poor brother could 
never get over our elopement, you wicked Albert.” 

“ Your poor brother thought 1 w r as cheating you, when I said 
I loved you to distraction. Now put your hand on your heart, 
Mrs. Pompilard, and say, if you can, that I have n’t proved 
every day of my life that I fell short of the truth in my pro- 
fessions.” 

“ I sha’n’t complain,” replied the lady, smiling ; “ but we 
were shockingly imprudent, both of us ; and I tell Netty I 
shall disown her if she ever elopes.” 

“ Of course Netty must n’t take our example as a precedent.” 

Buoyed up on her husband’s ever-sanguine and cheerful tem- 
perament, Mrs. Pompilard had looked upon their fluctuations 
from wealth to poverty as so many piquant variations in their 
way of life. This moving into a little mean house in Harlem, 
— w r hat was it, after all, but playing poor ? It w r ould be only 
temporary, and was a very good joke while it lasted. AJbert 
would soon have his palace on the Fifth Avenue once more. 
There was no doubt of it. 

And so Mrs. Pompilard made the best of the present mo- 
ment. Her step-daughters (she was the junior of one of 
them) used to treat her as they might a spoiled child, taking 


162 


PECULIAR. 


her in their laps, and petting her, and often rocking her to 
sleep. 

The news Pompilard had been reading suggested to him a 
not improbable contingency, but he exhibited the calmness of 
the experienced gambler in considering it. 

« My dear,” said he, “ if this news is true, it is not out of the 
range of possibilities that the extinction of this Berwick family 
may leave you the inheritrix of a million of dollars.” 

“That would be quite delightful,” exclaimed Mrs. Pompi- 
lard ; “ for then that poor pining Purling could marry Melissa 
at once. Not that I wish my niece and her husband any harm. 

0 no ! ” 

“ Yes, it would n’t be an ill wind for Purling and Melissa, 
that ’s a fact,” said Pompilard. “ The chances stand thus : If 
the mother died the last of the three, the property comes to you 
as her nearest heir. If the child died last, at least half, and 
perhaps all the property, must come to you. If the child died 
first (which is most probable), and then the father and the 
mother, or the mother and the father, still ther property comes 
to you. If the father died first, then the child, and then the 
mother, the property comes to you. But if the mother died 
first, then the child, and then the father, the money all goes to 
]Mrs. Charlton, by virtue of her kinship as aunt and nearest 
relative to Mr. Berwick. So you see the chances are largely 
in your favor. If the report is true that the family are all lost, 

1 would bet fifteen thousand to five that you inherit the prop- 
erty. I shall go to the city to-morrow, and perhaps by that 
time we shall have further particulars.” 

Pompilard then plunged anew into his novel, and the wife 
returned to her task of trimming a bonnet, intended as a wed- 
ding present to a girl who had once been in her service, and 
who was now to occupy one of the houses opposite. 

The next day, Pompilard, fresh, juvenile, and debonair, de- 
scended from the Harlem cars at Chambers Street, and strolled 
down Broadway, swinging his cane, and humming the Druidical 
chorus from Norma. Encountering Charlton walking in the 
same direction, he joined him with a “ Good morning.” Charlton 
turned, and, seeing Pompilard jubilant, drew from the spectacle 
an augury unfavorable to his own prospects. “ Has the old 
fellow had private advices ? ” thought he. 


WHO SHALL BE HEIR? 


163 


Pompilard spoke of the opera, of Maretzek, the Dusseldorf 
gallery, and the Rochester rappings. At length Charlton in- 
terposed with an allusion to the great steamboat disaster. Pom- 
pilard seemed to dodge the subject ; and this drove Charlton to 
the direct interrogatorji “ Have you had any information in 
addition to what the newspapers give ? ” 

“ O nothing, — that is, nothing of consequence,” said Pompi- 
lard. “ Did you hear Grisi last night ? ” 

“It appears,” resumed Charlton, “that your wife’s niece, 
Mrs. Berwick, was killed outright, that the child was subse- 
quently drowned, and that Mr. Berwick survived till the next 
day at noon.” 

“ Nothing more likely ! ” replied Pompilard, who had not yet 
seen the morning papers. 

“ Do you know any of the survivors ? ” asked Charlton. 

“ I have n’t examined the list yet,” said Pompilard. 

And they parted at the head of F ulton Street. 

Charlton built his hopes largely on the fact that Colonel 
Delaney Hyde was among the survivors. If, fortunately, the 
Colonel’s memory should serve him the right way, he might 
turn out a very useful witness. At any rate, he (Charlton) 
would communicate with him by letter forthwith. 

In one of the reports in the Memphis Avalanche, telegraphed 
to the morning papers, was the following extract : — 

“ Judge Onslow, late of Mississippi, and his son saved them- 
selves by swimming. Among the bodies they identified was 
that of Mrs. Berwick of New York, wounded in the head. 
From the nature of the wound, her death must have been in- 
stantaneous. Her husband was badly scalded, and, on recog- 
nizing the body of his wife, and learning that his child was 
among the drowned, he became deeply agitated. He lingered 
till the next day at noon. The child had been in the keeping 
of a mulatto nurse. Mr. Burgess of St. Louis, who was saved, 
saw them both go overboard. It appears, however, that the 
nurse, with her charge iii her arms, was seen holding on to a 
life-preserving stool ; but they were both drowned, though 
every effort was made by Colonel Hyde, aided by Mr. Quattles 
of South Carolina, to save them. 

“ We regret to learn that Colonel Hyde is a large loser in 
slaves. One of these, a valuable negro, named Peek, is prob- 


164 


PECULIAR. 


ably drowned, as be was handcuffed to prevent his escape. 
The other slaves may have perished, or may have made tracks 
for the underground railroad to Canada. The report that Mr.- 
Vance of New Orleans was lost proves to be untrue. The 
night was dark, though not cloudy. The river is very deep, 
and the current rapid at the place df the explosion (a few 
miles above Helena), and it is feared that many persons have 
been drowned whose bodies it will be impossible to recover.” 

Pompilard read this account, and felt a million of dollars 
slipping away from his grasp. But not a muscle of his face 
betrayed emotion. Impenetrable fatalist, he still had faith in 
the culmination of his star. 

“ We must wait for further particulars,” thought Pompilard ; 
“ there is hope still ” ; and, stopping at a stall to buy the new 
novel of “ Monte Cristo ” by Dumas, he made his way to the 
cars, and returned to Harlem. 

Weeks glided by. Mrs. Charlton passed away on the day 
she had predicted, and Toussaint, after seeing her remains 
deposited at Greenwood, gave away in charity the thousand 
dollars which she had extorted for him from her husband. 

Melissa Pompilard began to fear that the marriage-day 
would never come round. Cecil Purling, her betrothed, had 
made a descent on a young publisher, just starting in business, 
and had induced him to put forth a volume of “ playful ” essays, 
entitled “ Skimmings and Skippings.” The result was financial 
ruin to the publisher, and his rapid retreat back to the clerk- 
ship from which he had emerged. 

But Purling was indomitable. He began forthwith to plan 
another publication, and to look round for another victim ; 
cofnforting Melissa with the assurance that, though the critics 
were now in a league to keep him in obscurity, he should make 
his mark some day, when all his past works would turn out the 
most profitable investments he could possibly have found. 

To whom should the Aylesford-Berwiek property descend ? 
That was now a question of moment, both in legal and financial 
circles. Pompilard read novels, made love to his wife, and 
romped with his daughters and grandchildren, Charlton 
groaned and grew thin under the horrible state of suspense 
in which the lawyers kept him. 


THE VENDUE. 


165 


CHAPTER XYI. 


THE VENDUE. 


“ A queen on a scaffold is not so pitiful a sight as a woman on the auction-block.” 

Charles Sumner. 

“ Slavery gratifies at once the love of power, the love of money, and the love of ease ; it 
finds a victim for anger who cannot smite back his oppressor, and it offers to all, without 
measure, the seductive privileges which the Mormon gospel reserves for the true believers 
on earth, and the Bible of Mahomet only dares promise to the saints in heaven.” — O. IV. 
Holmes. 



BOUT a month after the explosion of the Pontiac, a select 


f\ company were assembled, one beautiful morning in June, 
under a stately palmetto-tree in front of the auction store of 
Messrs. Ripper & Co. in New Orleans, and on the shady side 
of the street. There was to be a sale of prime slaves that day. 
A chair with a table before it, flanked on either side by a bale 
of cotton, afforded accommodations for the ceremony. Mr. 
Ripper, the auctioneer, was a young man, rather handsome, 
and well dressed, but with that flushed complexion and telltale 
expression of the eyes which a habit of dissipation generally 
imparts to its victims. 

The company numbered some fifty. They were lounging 
about in groups, and were nearly all of them smoking cigars. 
Some were attired in thin grass-cloth coats and pantaloons, 
some in the perpetual black broadcloth to which Americans 
adhere so pertinaciously, even when the thermometer is at 
ninety. There was but one woman present ; and she was a 
strong-minded widow, a Mrs. Barkdale, who by the death of 
her husband had come into the possession of a plantation, and 
now, instead of sending her overseer, had come herself, to bid 
off a likely field-hand. 

The negroes to be sold, about a dozen in number, were in 
the warehouse. Mr. Ripper paced the sidewalk, looking now 
and then impatiently at his watch. The sale was to begin at 
ten. Suddenly a tall, angular, ill-formed man, dressed in a 
light homespun suit, came up to Ripper and drew him aside to 


166 


PECULIAR. 


where a young man, dressed in black and wearing a white 
neckcloth, stood bracing his back up against a tree. His 
swarthy complexion, dark eyes, and long nose made it doubtful 
whether the Caucasian, the Jewish, or the African blood pre- 
dominated in his veins. A general languor and unsteadiness 
of body showed that he had been indulging in the “ ardent.” 

To this individual the tall man led up the auctioneer, and 
said : “ The Reverend Quattles, Mr. Ripper ; Mr. Ripper, 
the Reverend Quattles. Gemmlemen, yer both know me. 
I’m Delaney Hyde, — Virginia-born, be Gawd. (’Scuze me, 
Reverend sir.) None of your Puritan scum ! My ahnees tor, 
Delaney Hyde, kum over with Pocahontas and John Smith ; 
my gra’ffther owned more niggers nor ’ary other man in the 
county ; my father was cheated and broke up by a damned 
Yankee judge, sir; that’s why the family acres ain’t mine.” 

“ I ’ve but five minutes more,” interposed Mr. Ripper, impa- 
tiently. 

“ Wall, sir,” continued the Colonel, “ this gemmleman, as I 
war tellin’ yer, is the Reverend Quattles of Alabamy.” 

The Reverend Quattles bowed, and, with fishy eyes and a 
maudlin smile, put his hand on his heart. 

“ The little nig I ’ve brung yer ter sell, Mr. Ripper, b’longs 
ter the Reverend Quattles’s brother, a high-tone gemmleman, 
who lives in Mobile, but has been unfortnit in business, and has 
had ter sell off his niggers. An’ as I was goin’ ter Noo Orleenz, 
he puts this little colored gal in my hands ter sell. The Rev- 
erend Quattles wanted ter buy her, but was too poor. He then 
said he ’d go with me ter see she mowt fall inter the right 
hahnds. In puttin’ her up, yer must say ’t was a great ’diction, 
and all that, ter part with her ; that the Reverend Quattles, 
ruther nor see her fall inter the wrong hands, would sell his 
library, and so on ; that she ’s the child of a quadroon as has 
been in the family all her life, and as is a sort of half-sister of 
the Reverend Quattles.” 

“ O yes ! I understand all that game,” said Ripper, knock- 
ing with his little finger the ashes from his cigar. 

The Colonel, in an aside to the auctioneer, now remarked : 
“ The Reverend Quattles, in tryin’ to stiddy his narves for the 
scene, has tuk too stiff a horn, yer see.” 


THE VENDUE. 


167 


“ Yes ; take him where he can sleep it off. It ’s time for the 
sale to begin. Remember your lot is Number 12, and will be 
struck off last.” 

The auctioneer then made his way across the street, jumped 
on one of the cotton-bales, and thence into the chair placed 
near the table. 

“ Come, Quattles,” said Hyde, “ we ’ve time for another horn 
afore we’re wanted.” 

“ No yer don’t, Kunnle ! ” exclaimed Quattles, throwing off 
that worthy’s arm from his shoulder. “ I tell yer this is too 
cussed mean a business for any white man ; I tell yer I won’t 
give inter it.” 

“ Ilush ! Don’t bawl so,” pleaded the Colonel. 

“ I will bawl. Yer think yer ’ve got me so drunk I hain’t 
no conscience left. But I tell yer, I woan’t give in. I tell 
yer, I ’ll ’xpose the hull trick ! ” 

“ Hush ! hush ! ” said the Colonel, patting him as he might a 
restive beast. “ Arter the sale ’s over, we ’ll have a fust-rate 
dinner all by ou’selves at the St. Charles. Terrapin soup and 
pompinoe ! Champagne and juleps ! Ice-cream and jelly ! A 
reg’lar blow-out ! Think of that, Quattles ! Think of that ! ” 

“ Cuss the vittles ! O, I ’m a poor, mis’able, used-up, good- 
for-northin’ creetur, wuss nor a nigger ! — yes, wuss nor a 
nigger ! ” said Quattles, bursting into maudlin sobs and weeping. 
The Colonel walked him away into a contiguous drinking- 
saloon. 

“ Brandy-smashes for two,” said the Colonel. 

The decoctions were brewed, and the tumblers slid along 
the marble counter, with the despatch of a man who takes 
pride in his vocation. They were as quickly emptied. Quat- 
tles gulped down his liquor eagerly. The Colonel then hired 
a room containing a sofa, and, seeing his companion safely 
bestowed there, made his own way back to the auction. 

On one of the cotton-bales stood a prime article called a 
negro-wench. This was Lot Number 3. She was clad in an 
old faded and filthy calico dress that had apparent^ been 
made for a girl half her size. A small bundle containing the 
rest of her wardrobe lay at her feet. Her bare arms, neck, 
and breasts were conspicuously displayed, and her knees were 


168 


PECULIAR. 


liardly covered by the stinted skirt. Without shame she stood 
there, as if used to the scene, and rather flattered by the glib 
commendations of the auctioneer. 

“ Look at her, gentlemen ! ” said he. “ All her pints good. 
Fust- rate stock to breed from. Only twenty-three years old, 
and has had five children already. And thar ’s no reason 
why she should n’t have a dozen more. I ’m only bid eight 
hunderd dollars for this most valubble brood-wench. Only 
eight hunderd dollars for this superior article. Thank you, 
sir ; you ’ve an eye for good pints. I ’m offered eight hunderd 
and twenty-five. Only eight hunderd and twenty-five for this 
most useful hand. Jest look at her, sir. Limbs straight ; teeth 
all sound ; wool thick, though she has had five children. All 
livin’, too ; ain’t they, Portia ? ” 

“ Yes, massa, all sole ter Massa Wade down thar in Texas. 
He ’m gwoin’ ter raise de hull lot.” 

“ You hear, gentlemen. Thar ’s nothin’ vicious about her. 
Makes no fuss because her young ones are carried off. Knows 
they ’ll be taken good care of. A good, reasonable, pleasant- 
tempered wench as ever lived. And now I ’m offered only 
eight hunderd and — Did I hear fifty? Thank you, sir. 
Eight hunderd and fifty dollars is bid. Is thar nary a man 
har that knows the valoo of a prime article like this ? Eight 
hunderd and fifty dollars. Goin’ for eight hunderd and fifty ! 
Goin’ ! Gone ! For eight hunderd and fifty dollars. Gen- 
tlemen, you must be calculating on the opening of the slave- 
trade, if you ’ll stand by and see niggers sacrificed in this way. 
Pass up the next lot.” 

The next “ lot ” was a man, a sulky, discontented-looking 
creature, but large, erect, and with shoulders that would have 
made his fortune as a hotel-porter. Laying down his bundle, 
he mounted the cotton-bale with a weary, desponding air, as 
if he had begun to think there was no good in reserve for him, 
either on the earth or in the heavens. 

“ Lot Number 4 is Ike,” said the auctioneer. “ A fust-rate 
field-hand. Will hoe more cotton in three hours than a com- 
mon nigger will in ten. Ike is pious, and has been a famous 
exhorter among the niggers ; belongs to the Baptist church. 
You all know, gentlemen, the advantage of piety in a nigger. 


THE VENDUE. 


169 


Ike’s piety ought to add thirty per cent to his wuth. I ’m 
offered nine hunderd dollars for Ike. Nine hunderd dollars ! ” 

Here a squinting, hatchet-faced fellow in a broad-brimmed 
straw hat, who had been making quite a puddle of tobacco- 
juice on the ground, leaped upon the bale, and lifted the slave’s 
faded baize shirt so as to get a look at his back. Then, putting 
his finger on the side of his nose, the examiner winked at Rip- 
per, and jumped down. 

“ Scored ? ” asked an anxious inquirer. 

“ Scored? Wall, stranger, he ’s been scored, then put under 
a harrer, then paddled an’ burnt. A hard ticket that.” 

The nine hundred dollar bid was as yet in the imagination 
of the auctioneer. But, with the quick penetration of his 
craft, he saw the strong-minded widow standing on tiptoe, her 
face eager with the excitement of bidding, and her words only 
checked by the desire to judge from the amount of competition 
whether the article were a desirable one. 

“ A thousand and ten ! Thank you, sir, thank you ! ” said 
Ripper, bowing to a gentleman he had seen only in his minds 
eye. Nobody could dispute the bid, all eyes being directed 
toward the auctioneer. 

“ A thousand and twenty-five,” continued -Ripper, turning 
in an opposite direction, and bowing to an equally imaginary 
bidder. Then, apparently catching the eye of the competing 
customer, “ A thousand and forty ! ” he exclaimed ; and so, see- 
sawing from one chimerical gentleman to the other, he carried 
the sham bidding up to a thousand and seventy-five. 

At this point Mrs. Barkdale, pale, and following with sway- 
ings of her own body the motions of the auctioneer, her heart 
in her mouth almost depriving her of speech, waved her hand 
to attract his attention, and, rising on tiptoe, gasped forth, “ A 
thousand and eighty ! ” 

“ Thank you, madam,” said Ripper, politely touching his hat. 
Then, apparently catching the eye of his imaginary bidder on 
the right, “ Monsieur Dupre,” he said, “ you won’t allow such 
a bargain to slip through your hands, will you ? Voyez ! Ou 
trouverez-vous un rnieux ? Thank you, sir ; thank you ! A 
thousand and ninety, — I’m offered a thousand and ninety for 
this superior field-hand. Goin’, — goin’. Thank you, madam. 


170 


PECULIAR. 


Eleven hunderd dollars ; only eleven hunderd dollars for this 
most valubble piece of property. I assure you, gentlemen, ’t is 
not often you ’ve such a chance. Goin’ for eleven hunderd 
dollars ! Are you all done ? Eleven hunderd dollars. Goin’ ! 
Gone ! You were too late, sir. To Mrs. Barkdale for eleven 
hunderd dollars.” 

The widow, almost ready to faint, made her way to her 
carriage, and was driven off. Some of the company shrugged 
their shoulders, while others uttered a low, significant whistle. 
Ike, who maintained his dogged, sulky look, picked up his 
bundle, and was remanded to the warehouse, there to be kept 
till claimed. 

“ Now, gentlemen,” said the auctioneer, “ I have to call your 
attention to the primest fancy article that it has ever been 
my good fortin to put under the hammer. Lot Number 5 is 
the quadroon gal, Nelly. Bring her on.” 

Here a negro assistant led out, with his hand on her shoulder, 
a girl apparently not more than eighteen years of age, and 
helped her on the cotton-bale. She was modestly clad in 
an old but neatly-fitting black silk gown, and, notwithstanding 
the heat, wore round her shoulders a checked woollen shawl. 
Her hair was straight. Evidently she derived her blood chiefly 
from white ancestors. She was very pretty ; and had a neat, 
compact figure, in which the tendency to plumpness, common 
among the quadroons, was not yet too marked for grace. 

It was apparently the first time she had ever been put up for 
sale ; for she had a scared, deprecatory look, strangely accom- 
panied with a smile put on for the purpose of propitiating some 
well-disposed master, if such there might be among the crowd. 

“ Now, gentlemen,” said Ripper, “ here is Lot Number 5. 
It speaks for itself, and needs no puffin’ from me. But tliar is 
a little story connected with Nelly. She was the property of 
Miss Pettigrew, down in Plaquemine, and always thought she ’d 
be free as soon as her missis died. But her missis fell under 
conviction jest afore her death, and ordered in her will that 
Nelly should be sold, and the proceeds paid over to the fund 
for the support of indigent young men studyin’ for the ministry. 
So, gentlemen, in biddin’ lib’rally for this superior lot, you ’ll 
have the satisfaction of forruding a most-er praiseworthy and 
pious objek.” 


THE VENDUE. 


171 


“ Make Her drop her shawl,” said a gray-haired man, with a 
blotched, unwholesome skin, and with dirty deposits of stale 
tobacco-juice at the corners of his mouth. 

“ Certainly, Mr. Tibbs,” said Ripper, pulling off the girl’s 
shawl as if he had been uncovering a sample of Sea-Island 
cotton. 

“ She has been a lady’s maid, and nothin’ else, I can assure 
you, gentlemen. Small hands and feet, yer see. Look at that 
neck and them shoulders ! Her missis has kept her very strict ; 
and the executor, by whose order she is sold, warrants you, 
gentlemen, she has never been enceinte. A very nice, good- 
natured, correct, and capable gal. Will never give her owner 
any trouble, and will ollerz do her best to please. Shall I start 
her at a thousand dollars?” 

Here Mr. Tibbs and two other men jumped on the bale, and 
began to give a closer examination to the article. One pinched 
the flesh of its smooth and well-rounded shoulders. Another 
stretched its lips apart so as to get a sight of its teeth. Mr. 
Tibbs pulled at the bosom of its dress in order to draw cer- 
tain physiological conclusions as to the truth of the auctioneer’s 
warranty. 

“ Please don’t,” expostulated the girl, putting away his hand, 
and with her scared look trying hard to smile, but showing 
in the act a set of teeth that at once added twenty per cent 
to her value in the estimation of the beholder. 

“ You see her, gentlemen,” said Ripper. “ She ’s just what 
she appears to be. No sham about her. No paddin’. All 
wholesome flesh and blood. What shall I have for Nelly ? ” 

“ A thousand dollars,” said Tibbs. 

u You hear the bid, gentlemen. I ’m offered a thousand 
dollars for this very superior article. Only a thousand dollars.” 

“ Eleven hundred,” said Jarvey, the well-known keeper of a 
gambling-saloon. 

Tibbs glanced angrily at the audacious competitor, then 
nodded to the auctioneer. 

“ Eleven hundred and fifty is what I m offered for Lot 
Number 5. Gentlemen, bar in mind that you air servin’ a 
pious cause in helpin’ me to git the full valoo of this most-er 
excellent article. Remember the proceeds go to edicate in- 


172 


PECULIAR 


digent young men for the ministry. Mr. Jarvey, can’t you do 
su’thin’ for the church ? ” 

“ Twelve hundred,” said Jarvey. 

“ Twelve fifty,” exclaimed Tibbs, abruptly, in a tone sharp 
with exasperation and malevolence. 

Nelly, seeing that the bidding was confined to these two, 
looked from the one to the other with an expression of deepest 
solicitude, as if scanning their countenances for some way of 
hope. Alas ! there was not much to choose. To Jarvey, as 
the less ill-favored, she evidently inclined ; but Tibbs had 
plainly made up his mind to “ go his pile ” on the purchase, 
and the article was finally knocked down to him for fifteen 
hundred dollars. 

“ You owt to be proud to bring sich a price as that, my gal,” 
said Ripper, in a tone of congratulation. Nelly made a piteous, 
frightened attempt at a smile, then burst into tears, and got 
down from the bale, stumbling in her confusion so as to fall 
on her hands to the ground, much to the amusement of the 
spectators. 

The lots from six to eleven inclusive did not excite much 
competition. They were mostly field-hands, coarse and stolid 
in feature, and showing a cerebral development of the most 
rudimental kind. They brought prices ranging from seven 
hundred to nine hundred dollars. 

“ Now, gentlemen,” said Ripper, “ I have one little fancy 
article to offer you, and then the sale will be closed. Bring on 
Number 12.” 

The colored assistant here issued from the warehouse and 
crossed the street, bearing a little quadroon girl and her bundle 
in his arms. Simultaneously a new and elegant barouche, drawn 
by two sleek horses, and having two blacks in livery on the 
driver’s box, stopped in the rear of the crowd. The occupant 
got out, and strolled toward the stand. He was a middle- 
aged man, with well-formed features, a smooth, florid com- 
plexion, and a figure inclining to portliness. Apparently a 
gentleman, were it not for that imperious, aggressive air, which 
the habit of domineering from infancy over slaves generally 
imparts. He carried a riding-whip, with which he carelessly 
switched his legs. 


THE VENDUE. 


173 


As he drew near the stand, the auctioneer’s assistant placed 
on the cotton-bale the little quadroon girl. She was almost an 
infant, evidently not three years old, with very black hair and 
eyebrows, though her eyes did not harmonize with the hue. 
She was naked even to her feet, with the exception of a little 
chemise that did not reach to her thighs. Her figure promised 
grace and health for the future. In the shape of her features 
there was no sign of the African intermixture indicated in the 
hue of her skin. With a wondering, anxious look she regarded 
the scene before her, and was making an obvious effort to keep 
from crying. 

“Now here is Number 12, gentlemen,” said Ripper. “Jest 
look at the little lady ! Thar she is. Fust-rate stock. Look 
at her hands and feet. Belonged to the Quattles family of 
Mobile, and I ’m charged by the Rev. Mr. Quattles to knock her 
down to himself (though he can’t afford to buy her), rather 
than have her go into the wrong hands. She ’s the child of 
his half-sister, yer see, gentlemen. What am I offered for this 
little lady ? ” 

“ A hundred dollars,” said a voice from the crowd. 

“ I ’m offered two hunderd dollars for this little tidbit,” said 
Ripper, pretending to have misunderstood the bid. 

Colonel Delaney Hyde stepped forward, and, taking a position 
at the side of the auctioneer, addressed the crowd : “ I know 
the Quattles family, gentlemen. It ’s an unfort’nit family, and 
they ’d never have put this yere child under the hammer if so 
be they had n’t been forced right up ter it by starn necessity.” 

“ Who the hell are you ? ” asked a tall, lank, defiant- looking 
gentleman, who seemed to be disgusted at the Colonel’s inter- 
ference. 

“ Who am I ? I ’ll tell yer who am I,” cried the latter. 
“ I ’m Colonel Delaney Hyde. Anything to say agin that ? 
Virginia-born, be Gawd ! My father was Virginia-born afore 
me, and his father afore him, and they owned more niggers 
nor you ever looked at. Anything to say agin that, yer de- 
spisable corn-cracker, yer ! ” 

“Hold yer tongue, Colonel; you’re drivin’ off a bidder,” 
whispered Ripper. The Colonel collapsed at once, quelling 
his indignation. 


174 


PECULIAR. 


“I’m offered two hunderd dollars for Number 12,” ex- 
claimed the auctioneer, putting his hand on the little girl’s 
head. “ If there ’s any good judge here of figger an’ face, he 
won’t see this article sacrificed for such a trifle.” 

“ Two twenty-five,” said Tibbs. 

The gentleman who had descended from the barouche here 
drew nearer, and examined the form and features of the little 
girl with a closer scrutiny. 

“Two fifty,” said he, as the result of his inspection. 

Tibbs, irritated by the competition, made his bid three hun- 
dred. 

“ Four hundred ! ” said the man with the riding- whip. 

“ Five hundred ! ” retorted Tibbs, ejecting the words with a 
vicious snort. 

“ Six hundred,” returned his competitor, with perfect non- 
chalance. 

“ Seven hundred and fifty,” shrieked Tibbs. 

“ A thousand,” said the other, playing with his whip. 

Tibbs did not venture further. Mortified and angry, he turned 
away, and consoled himself with an enormous cut of tobacco. 

“ Cash takes it,” said the successful bidder, putting his finger 
to his lips by way of caution to the auctioneer, and then beck- 
oning him to come down. Ripper exchanged a few words with 
him in a whisper, and told his assistant to put the little girl with 
her bundle into the barouche, and throw a carriage-shawl over 
her. 

As the barouche drove off, Hyde asked, “ Who is he ? ” 

“ Cash,” replied Ripper. “ Did n’t you hear ? I reckon 
you see more of overseers than of planters. You ’ve done 
amazin’ well, Colonel, gittin’ such a price fur that little concern.” 

“ Yes,” said Hyde ; “ Mr. Cash is a high-tone one, that ’s a 
fak. I should know him agin ’mong a thousand.” 

The company dispersed, the auctioneer settled with his cus- 
tomers, and Hyde went to find Quattles, and give him the 
jackal’s share of the spoils. 

Let us follow the barouche. Leaving the business streets, 
it rolled on till, in about a quarter of an hour, it stopped be- 
fore a respectable brick house, on the door of which was the 
sign, “ Ms. Gentry’s Seminary for Young Ladies.” Here the 
gentleman got out and rang the bell. 


THE VENDUE. 


175 


“ Is Mrs. Gentry at home ? ” 

“ Yes, sir. Walk in. I will take your card.” 

He was ushered into a parlor. In five minutes the lady ap- 
peared, — a tall, erect person with prominent features, a sallow 
complexion, and dry puffs of iron-gray hair parted over her 
forehead. A Southern judge’s daughter and a widow, Mrs. 
Gentry kept one of the best private schools in the city. On 
seeing the name of Carberry Ratcliff on the card, which Tar- 
quin, the colored servant, had handed to her, she went with 
alacrity to her mirror, and, after a little pranking, descended to 
greet her distinguished visitor. 

“ Perhaps you have heard of me before,” began Mr. Ratcliff. 

“ Often, sir. Be seated,” said the lady, charmed at the idea 
of having a visit from the lord of a thousand slaves. 

“I have in my barouche, madam, a little girl I wish to 
leave with you. She is my property, and I want her well 
taken care of. Can you receive her ? ” 

Mrs. Gentry looked significantly at the gentleman, and he, 
as if anticipating her interrogatory, replied : “ The child came 
into my possession only within this hour. I bought her quite 
accidentally at auction. She has none of my blood in her 
veins, I assure you.” 

“ Can I see her ? ” 

“ Yes ” ; and, walking to the window, Ratcliff motioned to 
one of his negroes to bring the child in. This was done ; and 
the infant was placed on the floor with her little bundle by her 
side, and nude as she was when exposed on the auction-block. 

“ A quadroon, I should think,” said Mrs. Gentry. 

“ I really don’t know what she is,” replied Ratcliff. “ I want 
you, however, to take her into your family, and raise her as 
carefully as if you knew her to be my daughter. You shall be 
liberally paid for your trouble.” 

“ Is she to know that she is a slave ? ” 

“ As to that I can instruct you hereafter. Meanwhile keep 
the fact a secret, and mention my name to no one in connection 
•/ith her. You can occasionally send me a daguerrotype, 
that I may see if her looks fulfil her promise. I wish you to 
be particular about her music and French, also her dancing. 
Let her understand all about dress too. You can draw upon 


176 


PECULIAR. 


me as often as you choose for the amount we fix upon ; and 
the probability is, I shall not wish to see her till she reaches 
her fifteenth or sixteenth year. I rely upon you to keep her 
strictly, and, as she grows older, to guard her against making 
acquaintances with any of the other sex. Will seven hundred 
dollars a year pay you for your trouble ? ” 

“ Amply, sir,” said the gratified lady. “ I will do my best to 
carry out your wishes.” 

“ You need not write me oftener than once a year,” said 
Ratcliff. 

u Not if she were dangerously ill ? ” 

“ No ; not even then. You could take better care of her 
than I ; and all my interest in her is in futuro.” 

“ I think I understand, sir,” said Mrs. Gentry ; “ and I will 
at once make a note of what you say.” 

“ Here is payment for the first half-year in advance,” said 
Ratcliff 

“ Thank you, sir,” returned the lady, quite overwhelmed 
at the great planter’s munificence. “ Shall I write you a 
receipt ? ” 

“ It is superfluous, madam.” 

All this while the child, with a seriousness strangely at vari- 
ance w r ith her infantile appearance, sat on the floor, looking 
intently first at the woman, then at the man, and evidently 
striving to understand what they were saying. Ratcliff now 
took his leave ; but Airs. Gentry called him back before lie had 
reached the door. 

“ Excuse me, sir, there is something I wished to ask you ? 
What was it ? Oh ! By what name shall we call the child ? ” 

“ Upon my word,” said Ratcliff, “ I have forgotten the name 
the auctioneer gave her. No matter ! Call her any tiling you 
please.” 

“ Well, then, Estelle is a pretty name. Shall I call her 
E?telle ? ” 

Ratcliff started, came close up to Airs. Gentry, looked her 
steadily in the face, and asked, “ Wliat put that name into your 
head ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Probably I have seen it in some novel.” 

“ Well, don’t call her Estelle. Call her Ellen Murray.” 


THE VENDUE. 


177 


“ I will remember.” 

And the interview closed. 

After the gentleman had gone, the child, with an anxious 
and grieved expression of face, tried to articulate an inquiry 
which Mrs. Gentry found it difficult to understand. At last 
she concluded it was an attempt to say, “ Where ’s Hatty ? ” 

Mrs. Gentry rang the bell, and it was answered by a colored 
woman of large, stately figure, whose peculiar hue and straight 
black hair showed that she was descended from some tribe dis- 
tinct from ordinary Africans. 

u Where ’s the chambermaid ? ” asked Mrs. Gentry. 

“ 0 missis, dat Deely ’s neber on de spot when she ’s wanted. 
De Lord lub us, what hab we here ? ” 

“ A new inmate of the family, Esha. I ’ve taken her to 
bring up.” 

“ Some rich man’s lub-child, I reckon, missis. But ain’t 
she a little darlin’ ? ” And Esha took her up from the floor, 
and kissed her. The child, feeling she had at last found a 
friend, threw its arms about the woman’s neck, and broke into 
a low, plaintive sobbing, as if her little heart were overfull of 
long-suppressed grief. 

“ Thar ! thar ! ” said Esha, soothing her ; “ she must n’t 
greeb nebber no more. Ole Esha will lub her dearly ! ” 

Mrs. Gentry opened the bundle, and was surprised to see 
several articles of clothing of a rich and fine texture, all neatly 
marked, though somewhat soiled. 

“ There, Esha,” she said, “ take the poor little thing and 
her bundle up-stairs, and dress her. To-morrow I ’ll get her 
some new clothes.” 

Esha obeyed, and the child thenceforth clung to her as to 
a mother. To the servant’s surprise, when she came to wash 
away the little one’s tears, the skin parted with its tawny hue, 
and showed white and fair. On examining the child’s hair, too, 
it was found to be dyed. What could be the object of this ? 
It never occurred to Esha that the little waif might be a slave, 
and that a white slave was not so salable as a colored. 

Mrs. Gentry communicated the phenomenon at once to Mr. 
Ratcliff, but he never alluded to it in any subsequent letter or 
conversation. 


8 * 


L 


178 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XVII 


SHALL THERE BE A WEDDING? 


“Ah ! spare your idol ; think him human still ; 
Charms he may have, hut he has frailties too ! 
Dote not too much, nor spoil what ye admire.” 


Young. 



I HE question as to the inheritance of the Aylesford-Ber- 


JL wick property was not decided without a lawsuit. The 
case was put into the courts, and kept there many months. 
The heavy legal expenses to which Charlton was subjected, 
and his reluctance to meet them, protracted the contest by 
alienating his lawyers. Pompilard went straight to the point 
by promising his counsel a fee of a hundred thousand dollars 
in the event of success ; and thus he enlisted and kept active 
the best professional aid. Still the prospect was doubtful. 

But even the law's delay must finally have an end. The 
hour of the final settlement of the great case by the ultimate 
court of appeal had come at last. The judges had entered and 
taken their seats. Charlton, pale and haggard, sat by the side 
of his lawyer, Detritch. Pompilard, still masking his age, 
entered airy as a maiden just stepping forth into Broadway in 
her new spring bonnet. He wore a paletot of light gray, a 
choker girt by a sky-blue silk ribbon, a white vest, checked 
pantaloons, and silk stockings under low-cut patent-leather 
shoes. Taking a seat at a little semicircular table near his 
lawyers, he exchanged repartees with them, and then tran- 
quilly abided his fate. Charlton looked with anguish on the 
composure of his antagonist. 

Just as the case was expected to come on, one of the judges 
was found to have left a certain document at home. They all 
retired, and a messenger was sent for the important paper. 
Hence a delay of an hour. Charlton could not conceal his 
agitation. Pompilard took up the morning journal, and read 
with sorrow of the death of an old friend. 

u Poor old Toussaint! I see he has left us/’ said Pompilard. 


SHALL THERE BE A WEDDING? 


179 


“ Yes,” replied Girard, “ All-Saint has gone. He was well 
named. He has never held up his head since he lost his wife.” 

“ Toussaint was a gentleman, every inch of him,” said Pom- 
pilard. “ He believed in the elevation of the black man, not 
by that process of absorption or amalgamation which some of 
our noodles recommend, but by his showing in his life and 
character that a negro can be as worthy and capable of free- 
dom as a white man. He was for keeping the blacks socially 
separate from the whites, though one before the law, and teach- 
ing them to be content with the color God had given them. A 
brave fellow was Toussaint. I remember — that was before 
your day — when the yellow fever prevailed here. Maiden 
Lane and the lower parts of the (fity were almost deserted. 
But Toussaint used to cross the barricades every day to tend 
on the sick and dying, and carry them food and medicine.” 
u Did you know him well ? ” asked Girard. 

“ Intimately, these thirty years. In his demeanor exquisitely 
courteous and respectful, there was never the slightest tinge 
of servility. You could not have known him as I did without 
forgetting his color and feeling honored in the companionship 
of a man so thoroughly generous, pious, and sincere. Ho 
would sometimes make playful allusions to his color. He 
seemed much amused once by my little Netty, who, when 
she was about three years old, said to him, after looking him 
steadily in the face for some time, ‘ Toussaint, do you live in 
a black house ? ’ The other day, knowing he was quite ill, my 
wife called on him, and while by his bedside asked him if she 
should close a window, the light of which shone full in his face. 
‘ O non, madam,’ he replied, ‘ car alors je serai trop noir.’ ” * 
Here Pompilard ceased, and looked up. There was a stir 
in the court-room. Their Honors had re-entered and taken 
seats. The messenger with the missing paper had returned. 
The presiding judge, After a long and tantalizing preamble, in 
the course of which Charlton was alternately elevated and de- 
pressed, at length summed up, in a few intelligible words, the 
final decision of the court. Charlton fainted. 

Pompilard’s lawyers bent down their heads, as if certain 

* “ 0 no, madam, for then I shall be too black.” A Life of Toussaint, by 
Mrs. George Lee, was published in Boston some years since. 


PECULIAR. 


€) 


180 

papers suddenly demanded their close scrutiny; but Pompi- 
lard himself was radiant. Everybody stared at him, and 
handsomely did he baffle everybody by his imperturbable good 
humor. It is not every day that one has an opportunity of 
seeing how a fellow-being is affected by the winning or the 
losing of a million of dollars. No one could have guessed 
from Pompilard’s appearance whether he had won or lost. 
Unfortunately he had lost ; and Charlton had reached the 
acme of his hopes, mortal or immortal, — he was a millionnaire. 

Pompilard took the news home to his wife in the little old 
double house at Harlem ; and her only comment was : “ Poor 
dear Melissa! I had hoped to make her a present of a fur- 
nished cottage on the North River.” 

The conversation was immediately turned to the subject of 
Toussaint, and one would have thought, hearing these strange 
foolish people talk, that the old negro’s exit saddened them far 
more than the loss of their fortune. Angelica, Pompilard’s 
widowed daughter, entered. After her came Netty, the elf, 
now almost a young lady. She carried under her arm a port- 
folio, filled with such drawings of ships, beaches, and rocks as 
she could find in occasional excursions to Long Island, under 
the patronage of Mrs. Maloney, the tailor’s wife. 

Julia and Mary Ireton, daughters of Angelica, came in. 

“ Which of my little nieces will take my portfolio up-stairs ? ” 
asked Netty. 

“ I will, aunt,” said the dutiful Mary ; and off she ran with it. 

“ Poor Melissa ! We shall now have to put off the wed- 
ding,” sighed Angelica, on learning the result of the lawsuit. 

“ No such thing ! It sha’n’t be put off! ” said Pompilard. 

Netty threw her arms round the old man’s neck, kissed him, 
and exclaimed : “ Bravo, father of mine ! Stick to that ! It 
is n’t half lively enough in this house. We want a few more 
here to make it jolly. Why can’t we have such high times as 
they have in at the Maloneys’ ? There we made such a noise 
the other night that the police knocked at the door.” 

Maloney, by the way, be it recorded, had, under the pupilage 
of Pompilard, given up strong drink and wife-beating, and risen 
to be a tailor of some fashionable note. Pompilard had found 
out for him an excellent cutter, — had kept him posted in re- 


SHALL THERE BE A WEDDEfG? 


181 


gard to tlie fashions, — and then had gone round the city to all 
the clubs, hotels, and opera-houses, blowing for Maloney with 
all his lungs. He did n’t “ hesitate to declare ” that Maloney 
was the only man in the country who could fit you decently to 
pantaloons. Pantaloons were his specialite. His cutter was 
a born genius, — “ an Englishman, sir, whose grandfather used 
to cut for the famous Brummel, — you ’ve heard of Brum- 
mel ? ” The results of all this persistent blowing were aston- 
ishing. Soon the superstition prevailed in Wall Street and 
along the Fifth Avenue, that if one wanted pantaloons he must 
go to Maloney. Haynes was excellent for dress-coats and 
sacks ; but don’t let him hope to compete with Maloney in 
pantaloons. You would hear young fops discussing the point 
with intensest earnestness and enthusiasm. 

How many fortunes have a basis quite as airy and unsub- 
stantial ! Soon Maloney’s little shop was crowded with custom- 
ers. He was obliged to take a large and showy establishment 
in Broadway. Here prosperity insisted on following him. 
Wealth began to flow steadily in. He found himself on the 
plain, high road to fortune ; and by whom but Pompilard had 
he been led there ? The consequence was perpetual gratitude 
on the tailor’s part, evinced in daily sending home, with his 
own marketing, enough for the other half of the house ; evinced 
also in the determination to stick to Harlem till his benefactor 
would consent to leave. 

While the Pompilards were discussing the matter of the 
wedding, Melissa and Purling entered from a walk. Melissa 
carried her years very well ; though hope deferred had written 
anxiety on her pmiable features. Purling was a slim, gen- 
tlemanly person, always affecting good spirits, though certain 
little silvery streaks in the side-locks over his ears showed that 
time and care were beginning their inevitable work. In 
aspiring to authorship he had not thought it essential that he 
should consume gin like Byron, or whiskey like Charles Lamb, 
or opium like De Quincey. But if there be an avenging deity 
presiding over the wrongs of undone publishers, Purling must 
be doomed to some unquiet' nights. There was something 
sublime in the pertinacity with which he kept on writing after 
the public had snubbed him so repeatedly by utter neglect ; 


182 


PECULIAR. 


something still more sublime in the faith which led publishers 
to fall into the nets he so industriously wove for them. 

The result of the lawsuit being made known to the new- 
comers, Melissa, hiding her face, at once left the room, and was 
followed by her sisters and step-mother. 

Purling keenly felt the embarrassment of his position. 
Pompilard came to his relief. “ We have concluded, my dear 
fellow,” said he, “ not to put off the wedding. Don’t concern 
yourself about money-matters. You can come and occupy 
Melissa’s room with her till I get on my legs once more. I 
shall go to work in earnest now this lawsuit is off my hands.” 

“ My dear sir,” said Purling, “ you are very generous, — 
very indulgent. The moment my books begin to pay, what is 
mine shall be yours ; and if you can conveniently accommodate 
me for a few months, till the work I’m now writing is — ” 

“ Accommodate you ? Of course we can ! The more the 
merrier,” interrupted Pompilard. “ So it ’s settled. The 
wedding comes off next Wednesday.” 

And the wedding came off according to the programme. It 
took place in church. Pompilard was in his glory. Cards had 
been issued to all his friends of former days. Many had con- 
veniently forgotten that such a person existed ; but there were 
some noble exceptions, as there generally are in such cases. 
Presents of silver, of dresses, books, furniture, and pictures were 
sent in from friends both of the bride and bridegroom ; so that 
the trousseau presented a very respectable appearance ; but the 
prettiest gift of the occasion was a little porte-monnaie, contain- 
ing a check for two thousand dollars signed by Pat Maloney. 

As for Charlton, young in years, if not in heart, good-looking, 
a widower unencumbered with a child, what was there he might 
not aspire to with his twelve hundred thousand dollars ? 

He was taken in charge by the J s, and the M s, 

and the P s, and introduced into “ society.” Yes, that is 

the proper name for “ our set.” A competition, outwardly calm, 
but internally bitter and intense, was entered upon by fashion- 
able mothers having daughters to provide for. Charlton be- 
came the sensation man of the season. “ Will he marry ? ” That 
was now the agitating question that convulsed all the maternal 
councils within a mile’s radius of the new Fifth Avenue Hotel. 


THE UNITIES DISREGARDED. 


183 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE UNITIES DISREGARDED. 

a Blessed are they who see, and yet believe not ! 

Yea, blest are they who look on graves, and still 
Believe none dead 5 who see proud tyrants ruling, 

And yet believe not in the strength of Evil.” 

. Leopold Schefer. 

T HE admirers of Aristotle must bear with us while we 
take a little liberty : that, namely, of violating all the 
unities. 

Fourteen years had slipped by since the great steamboat 
accident ; fourteen years, pregnant with forces, and prolific of 
events, to the far-reaching influence of which no limit can be 
set. 

In those years a mechanic named Marshall, while build- 
ing a saw-mill for Captain Sutter in California, had noticed a 
glistening substance at the bottom of the sluice. Thence the 
beginning of the great exodus from the old States, which soon 
peopled the auriferous region, and in five years made San 
Francisco one of the world’s great cities. 

In those years the phenomena, by some called spiritual, of 
svhich our friend Peek had got an inkling, excited the atten- 
tion of many thousand thinkers both in America and Europe. 
[11 France these manifestations attracted the investigation of 
the Emperor himself, and won many influential believers, 
among them Delamarre, editor of La Patrie. In England 
they found advocates among a small but educated class ; while 
;he Queen’s consort, the good and great Prince Albert, was 
;oo far advanced on the same road to find even novelty in 
nrhat Swedenborg and Wesley had long before prepared him 
;o regard as among the irregular developments of spirit power. 
“ Humbug and idiocy ! ” cried the doctors. 

“ A cracking of the toe-joints ! ” said Conjurer Anderson. 

“ A scientific trick ! ” insisted Professor Faraday. 


184 


PECULIAR. 


“ Spirits are the last thing I ’ll give into,” said Sir David 
Brewster. 

“ 0 ye miserable mystics ! ” cried the eloquent F errier, 
“have ye bethought yourselves of the backward and down- 
ward course which ye are running into the pit of the bestial 
and the abhorred?” 

“ How very undignified for a spirit to rap on tables and talk 
commonplace ! ” objected the transcendentalists, who looked for 
Orphic sayings and Delphian profundities. 

To all which the investigators replied : We merely take 
facts as we find them. The conjurers and the professors fail 
to account for what we see and hear. Sir David may give or 
refuse what name he pleases : the phenomena remain. Pro- 
fessor Ferrier may wax indignant ; but his indignation does 
not explain why tables, guitars, and tumblers of water are 
lifted and carried about by invisible and impenetrable intelli- 
gent forces. We are sorry the manifestations do not please 
our transcendental friends. Could we have our own way, 
these spirits, forces, intelligences — call them what you will — • 
should talk like Carlyle and deport themselves like Grandison. 
Could we have our own way, there should be no rattlesnakes, 
no copperheads, no mad dogs. ’T is a great puzzle to us why 
Infinite Power allows such things. We do not see the use of 
them, the cui bono ? Still we accept the fact of their existence. 
And so we do of what-, in the lack of a name less vague, we 
call spirits. There are many drunkards, imbeciles, thieves, 
hypocrites, and traitors, who quit this life. According to the 
transcendental theory, these ought to be converted at once, by 
some magical presto-change ! into saints and sages, their iden- 
tity wholly merged or obliterated. If the All-Wise One does 
not see it in that light, we cannot help it. If He can afford to 
wait, we shall not impatiently rave. It would seem that the 
Eternal chariot- wheels must continue to roll and flash on, 
however professors, conjurers, and quarterly reviewers may 
burn their poor little hands by trying to catch at the spokes. 

“ I did not bargain for this,” grumbles the habitual novel- 
reader, resentfully throwing down our book. 

Bear with us yet a moment longer, injured friend. 

During these same fourteen years of which we have spoken, 


THE UNITIES DISREGARDED. 


185 


the Slave Power of the South having, through the annexation 
of Texas, plunged the country into a war with Mexico for the 
extension of the area of slavery, met its first great rebuff in 
the establishment of California as a Free State of the Union. 

The Fugitive-Slave Bill was given in 1850 to appease the 
slaveholding caste. Soon afterwards followed the repeal of 
that Missouri Compromise which had prohibited slavery north 
of a certain line. It was hoped that these two concessions 
would prove such a tub thrown to the whale as would divert 
him from mischief. 

Then came the deadly struggle for supremacy in Kansas ; 
pro-slavery ruffianism, on the one side, striving to dedicate the 
virgin soil to the uses of slavery ; and the spirit of freedom, on 
the other side, resisting the profanation. The contest was long, 
doubtful, and bloody ; but freedom, thank God ! prevailed in 
the end. Slavery thus came to grief a second time ; for the 
lords of the lash well knew that to circumscribe their system 
was to doom it, and that withput ever new fields for extension 
it could not live and prosper. 

One John Brown, of Ossawatomie in Kansas, during these 
years having learnt what it was to come under the ban of 
the Slave Power, — having been hunted, hounded, shot at, and 
had a son brutally murdered by the devilish hate, born of slav- 
ery, and engendering such dastardly butchers as Quantrell, — 
resolved to do what little service he could to God and man, by 
trying to wipe out an injustice that had long enough outraged 
heaven and earth. With less than fifty picked men he rashly 
seized on Harper’s Ferry, held it for some days, and threw old 
Virginia into fits. He was seized and hung ; and many good 
men approved the hanging ; but in little more than a year 
afterwards, John Brown’s soul was “ marching on ” in the song 
of the Northern soldiery going South to battle against rebellion, 
until the very Charlestown where his gallows was" set up was 
made to ring with the terrible refrain in his honor, the echoes of 
which are now audible in every State, from Maine to Louisiana. 

Slavery first showed its ungloved hand at the Democratic 
Convention at Charleston in 1860 for the nomination of Pres- 
ident. Here it was that Stephen A. Douglas, the very man 
who had given to the South as a boon the repeal of the Mis- 


186 


PECULIAR. 


souri Compromise, was rejected by the Southern conspirators 
against the Union, and John C. Breckenridge, the potential and 
soon actual traitor, was put in nomination as the extreme pro- 
slavery candidate against Douglas. And thus the election of 
Abraham Lincoln, the candidate pledged against slavery exten- 
sion, was secured. 

This election “ is not the cause of secession, but the oppor- 
tunity,” said Mr. Robert Barnwell Rhett of South Carolina. 
“ Slavery shall be the corner-stone of our new Confederacy,” 
said Mr. A. H. Stephens, Confederate Vice-President, who a 
few weeks before, namely, in January, 1861, had said in the 
Georgia Convention: “ For you to attempt to overthrow such 
a government as this, under which we have lived for more than 
three quarters of a century, with unbounded prosperity and 
rights unassailed, is the height of madness, folly, and wicked- 
ness, to which I can neither lend my sanction nor my vote.” 

After raising armies for seizing Washington and for securing 
the Border States to slavery, Mr. Jefferson Davis, President 
of the improvised Confederacy, proclaimed to an amused and 
admiring world, “ All we want is to be let alone.” 

Peaceful reader of the year 1875 (pardon the presumption 
that bids us hope such a reader will exist), bear with us for 
these digressions. In your better day let us hope all these ter- 
rible asperities will have passed away. But, while we write, 
our country’s fate hangs poised. It is her great historic hour. 
Daily do our tears fall for the wounded or the slain. Daily do 
we regret that we, too, cannot give something better than words, 
thicker than tear-drops, to our country. But thus, through 
blood and anguish and purifying sufferings, is God leading us 
to that better future which you shall enjoy. 


THE WHITE SLAVE. 


187 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE WHITE SLAVE. 


“ Because immortal, therefore is indulged 
This strange regard of deities to dust ! 

Hence, Heaven looks down on Earth with all her eyes ; 
Hence, the soul’s mighty moment in her sight ; 

Hence, every soul has partisans above, 

And every thought a critic in the skies.” 


Young. 

“ The creature is great, to whom it is allowed to imagine questions to which only a 
God can reply.” — Aime Martin. 



0 one who has travelled largely through the Southern 


it States will require to be told that the slave system 
sanctions the holding in slavery of persons who are undis- 
tinguishable in complexion from the whitest Anglo-Saxons. 
Several carefully authenticated cases, analogous to that devel- 
oped in our story, though surpassing it in unspeakable base- 
ness, have been recently brought to light. We need only hint 
at them at this stage of our narrative. 

The reader has already divined that the little girl sold at 
the slave-auction, and placed under Mrs. Gentry’s care, was no 
other than the unfortunate child whose parents were lost in 
the disaster of the Pontiac. 

There is a class of minds which, either from inertness or 
lack of leisure, never revise the opinions they have received 
from others. If we might borrow a fresh illustration from 
Mrs. Gentry’s copy-books, we might say that in her mental 
growth the tree was inclined precisely as the twig had been 
bent. She honestly believed that there was no appeal from 
what her sire, the judge, had once laid down as law or gospel. 
Having been bred in the belief that slavery was a wholesome 
and sacred institution, she would probably have seen her own 
6ister dragged under it to the auction-block, and not have ven- 
tured to question the righteousness of the act. 

There were only two passions which, should they ever come 


188 


PECULIAR. 


in direct collision with her veneration for slavery, might possi- 
bly override it ; but even on this there seemed to rest much 
uncertainty. Her acquisitiveness, as the phrenologists would 
have called it, was large ; and then, although she was fast de- 
clining into the sere and yellow leaf, she had not surrendered 
all hope of one day finding a successor to the late Mr. Gentry 
in her affections. 

Regarding poor little Clara Berwick (or Ellen Murray) as 
a slave, she could never be so far moved by the child’s win- 
ning presence and ways as to look on her as entitled to the 
same atmosphere and sun as herself. No infantile grace, no 
solicitation of affection, could ever melt the icy barrier with 
which the pride and self-seeking, fostered by slavery, had 
encircled the heart, not naturally bad, of the schoolmistress. 
And yet she did her duty by the child to the best of her 
ability. Though not a highly educated person, Mrs. Gentry 
was shrewd enough to employ for her pupils the most accom- 
plished teachers ; and in respect to Clara she faithfully carried 
out Mr. Ratcliff’s directions. True, she always exacted an 
obedience that was unquestioning and blind. She did not care 
to see that the child could have been led by a silken thread, 
only satisfy her reason or appeal to her affections. And so it 
was to Esha that Clara would always have to go for sympa- 
thy, both in her sorrows and her joys ; and it was Esha whose 
influence was felt in the very depths of that fresh and sensitive 
nature. 

From her third to her fourteenth year Clara gave little 
promise of beauty. Ratcliff, on receiving her photographs, 
used to throw them aside with a “ Psha ! Affter all, she ’ll be 
fit only for a household drudge.” 

But as she emerged into her sixteenth year, and features 
and form began to develop the full meaning of their outlines, she 
all at once appeared in the new and startling phase of a rare 
model of incipient womanhood. Her hair, thick and flowing, 
was of a softened brown tint, which yet was distinct from that 
cognate hue, abrun (a-brown) or auburn, a shade suggestive of 
red. Her complexion was clear and pure, though not of tha 
brilliant pink and white often associated with delicacy of con- 
stitution. A profile, delicately cut as if to be the despair of 


THE WHITE SLAVE. 


189 


sculptors ; a forehead not high, but high enough to show 
Mind enthroned there ; eyes — it was not till you drew quite 
near that you marked the peculiarity already described in the 
infant of the Pontiac. The mouth and lips were small and pas- 
sionate, the chin bold, yet not protrusive, the nostrils having 
that indescribable curve which often makes this feature surpass 
all the others in giving a character of decision to a face. A 
man of the turf would have summed up his whole description 
of the girl in the one word “ blood.” 

Such a union of the seqsuous nature with pure will and in- 
tellect might well have made a watchful parent tremble for her 
future. 

Ratcliff had been for more than a year in South Carolina, 
helping to fire the Southern heart, and forward the secession 
movement. Early in January, 1861, he made a flying visit to 
New Orleans, and called on Mrs. Gentry. 

After some conversation on public affairs, the lady asked, 
“ Would you like to see my pupil ? ” 

“ Not if she resembles the photographs you ’ve sent me,” re- 
plied Ratcliff. Then, looking at his watch, he added : “ I leave 
for Charleston this afternoon, and have n’t time to see her now. 
Early in March I shall be back, and will call then.” 

“ You must see her a minute,” said Mrs. Gentry. “ I think 
you ’ll admit she does no discredit to my bringing* up.” And 
she rang the bell. 

“ Tell Miss Murray, I desire her presence in the parlor.” 

Clara entered. She was attired in a plain robe of slate- 
colored muslin, exquisitely fitted, and had a book in her hand, 
as if just interrupted in study. She stood inquiringly before 
the schoolmistress, and seemed unconscious of another’s pres- 
ence. 

“ I wish you, Miss Murray, to play for this gentleman. Play 
the piece you last learnt.” 

Without the slightest shyness, Clara obeyed, seating herself 
at the piano, and performing Schubert’s delectable “ Lob der 
Throenen,” (Eulogy of Tears,) with Liszt’s arrangement. This 
«hA did with an executive facility and precision of touch that 
would have charmed a competent judge, which Ratcliff was not. 

And yet astonishment made him speechless. He had ex- 


190 


PECULIAR. 


pected an undeveloped, awkward, homely girl. Lo a beautiful 
young woman whose perfect composure and grace were such as 
few queens of society could exliibit ! And all that youth and 
loveliness were his ! 

He looked at his watch. Not another moment could he 
remain. He drew near to Clara and took her hand, which she 
quickly withdrew. “Only maiden coyness,” thought he, and 
said : “ We must be better acquainted. But I must now hasten 
from your dangerous society, or 1 shall miss the steamer. 
Good by, my dear. Good by, Mrs. Gentry. You shall hear 
from me very soon.” 

And Mrs. Gentry rang the bell, and black Tarquin opened 
the door for Ratcliff. As it closed upon him, “ Who is that 
old man ? ” asked Clara. 

“ Old ? Why, he does n’t look a year over forty,” replied 
Mrs. Gentry. “ That ’s the rich Mr. Ratcliff.” 

“ Well, I detest him,” said Clara, emphatically. 

“ Detest ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Gentry, horror-stricken ; for it 
was not often that Clara condescended to speak her mind so 
freely to that lady. “ Detest ? Is this the end of all my 
moral and religious teachings ? O, but you ’ll be come up with, 
if you go on in this way. Retire to your room, Miss.” 

Swiftly and gladly Clara obeyed. 

Apropos of the aforesaid teachings, Ratcliff was very will- 
ing that his predestined victim should be piously inclined. It 
would rather add to the piquancy of her degradation. He 
wavered somewhat as to whether she should be a Protestant 
or a Catholic, but finally left the whole matter to Mrs. Gentry. 
That profound theologian had done her best to lead Clara into 
her own select fold, and, as she thought, had succeeded ; but 
Clara was pretty sure to take up opinions the reverse of those 
held by her teacher. So, after sitting in weariness of spirit 
under the ministry of the Rev. Dr. Palmer in the morning, 
the perverse young lady would ventilate her religious concep- 
tions by reading Fenelon, Madame Guyon, or Zschokke in the 
evening. 

Mrs. Gentry believed in secession, and raved like a Pytho- 
ness against the cowardly Yankees. Clara, seeing a United 
States flag trampled on and torn in the street, secured a rag 


THE WHITE SLAVE. 


191 


of it, secretly washed it, and placed it as a holy symbol on her 
bosom. Mrs. Gentry expatiated to her pupils on the right- 
eousness and venerableness of slavery. Clara cut out from a 
pictorial paper a poor little dingy picture of Fremont, and 
concealed it between two leaves of her Bible, underlining on 
one of them these words : “ Proclaim liberty throughout all 
the land unto all the inhabitants thereof.” 

Esha, the colored cook, a slave, was Clara’s fast friend in all 
her youthful troubles. Esha had passed through all degrees 
of slavery, — from toiling in a cotton-field to serving as a lady’s 
maid. Having had a child, a little girl, taken from her and 
sold, she ever afterwards refused to be again a mother. The 
straight hair, coppery hue, and somewhat Caucasian cast of 
features of this slave showed that she belonged to a race dif- 
ferent from that of the ordinary negro. She had been named 
Ayesha, after one of Mahomet’s wives. She generally wore a 
Madras handkerchief about her head, and showed a partiality 
for brilliant colors. Many were the stealthy interviews that 
she and Clara enjoyed together. 

Said Esha, on one of these occasions : “ Don’t b’leeb ’em, 
darlin’, whan dey say de slabe am berry happy, an’ all dat. 
No slabe dat hab any sense am happy. He know, he do, dat 
suffn’s tuk away from him dat God gabe him, and meant he 
sh’d hole on ter ; and so he feel ollerz kind o’ mean afore God 
an’ man too ; an’ I ’fy anybody, white or black, to be happy 
who feel dat ar way.” 

“ But it is n’t the slave’s fault, Esha, that he ’s a slave.” 

“ It ’s de slabe’s fault dat he stay a slabe, darlin’,” said the 
old woman, with a strange kindling of the eyes. “ But den de 
massa hab de raisin’ ob him, an’ so take good car’ ter break 
down all dar am of de man in de poor slabe ; an’ de poor slabe 
hab no lamin’, and dunno whar’ to git a libbin’ or how to sabe 
hisself from starvin’. An’ if he run away, de people Norf send 
him back.” 

On studying Esha further, Clara discovered that she was 
half Mahometan, and could speak Arabic. Her mixed notions 
she had got partly from her father, Amri, who belonged to 
one of those African tribes who cultivate a pure deism, tem- 
pered only by faith in the mission of Mahomet as an inspired 


192 


PECULIAR. 


prophet. Amri had been captured by a hostile tribe and sold 
into slavery. He lived long enough to teach his little Esha 
some things which she remembered. She could repeat several 
Arabic poems, and Clara first became familiar with the Ara- 
. bian Nights through this old household drudge. One of these 
poems had a mystical charm for Clara. Through the illiterate 
garb which the slave’s English gave it, Clara detected a signifi- 
cance that led her to write out a paraphrase in the following 
words : — 

“The sick man lay on liis bed of pain. ‘Allah!’ he moaned; and his 
heart grew tender, and his eyes moist, with prayer. 

“The next morning the tempter said to him: ‘No answer comes from 
Allah. "Call louder, still no Allah will hear thee or ease thy pain.’ 

“ The sick man shuddered. His heart grew cold with doubt and inqixie- 
tude; when suddenly before him stood Elias. 

“‘Child!’ said Elias, ‘why art thou sad? Dost think thy prayers are 
unheard and unanswered; that tliy devotion is all in vain? ’ 

“And the sick man replied: ‘Ah! so often, and with such tears I have 
called on Allah! I call Allah! but never do I hear his “ Here am I! ” ’ 

“ And Elias left the sick man; but God said to Elias: ‘ Go to the tempted 
one; lift him up from his despair and unbelief. 

‘“Tell him that his very longing is its own fulfilment; that his verj 
prayer, “ Come, Allah ! ” is Allah’s answer, “ Here am I ! ” ’ 

“Yes, every good aspiration is an angel straight from God. Say from the 
heart, ‘ 0 my Father! ’ and that very utterance is the Father’s reply, ‘ Here, 
my child!’’’* 

Like many native Africans, Esha was fully assured of the 
existence of spirits, and of their power, in exceptional cases, 
to manifest themselves to mortals. And she related so many 
facts within her own experience, that Clara became a believer 
on human testimony, — the more readily because Esha’s faith 
in demonism was unmixed with superstition. 

“ Tell me, Esha,” said Clara, at one of their secret midnight 
conferences, “were you ever whipped?” 

“ Never badly, darlin’. It ain’t de whippins and de suf’rins 
dat make de wrong ob slavery. De mos kindest thing dey 
could do de slabe would be ter treat him so he would n’t stay a 
slabe no how. But dey know jes how fur to go, widout stirrin’ 
up de man inside ob him. An’ dat ’s the cuss ob slabery.” 

“ But, Esha, don’t they generally treat the women well on 
the plantations ? ” 

* By Dscheladeddin, a famous Mahometan my6tic. 


THE WHITE SLAVE. 


193 


“ De breedin’ women dey treat well, — speshilly jes afore dar 
time,* — but I ’ze known a pregnant woman whipped so she 
died de same night. 0 de poor bressed lily ob de world! 0 
de angel from hebbn ! O de sweet lubly chile ! Nebber, no, 
nebber, nebber shall I disremember how I held de little gole 
cross afore dat chile’s eyes, an’ how she die wid de smile on her 
sweet face, and her own husband’s head on her bosom.” 

And the old woman burst into a passion of tears, rocking 
herself to and fro, and living over again the sorrow of that 
death-bed scene to which she and Peek and one other, years 
before, had been witnesses. 

Clara pacified her, and Esha said, “ You jes stop one 
minute, darlin’, and I ’ll show yer suff ’n.” She went to her 
garret-closet, and returned with a small silk bag, from which 
she took a package done up in fine linen. This she unpinned, 
and displayed a long strand of human hair, thick, silky, soft, 
and of a peculiarly beautiful color, hardly olive, yet reminding 
one of that hue. Holding it up, she said : “ Dar ! Dat ’s de 
hair I cut from de head of dat same bress-ed chile I jes tell 
yer ’bout.” 

“ But that is the hair of a white woman,” said Clara. 

“ Bress yer, darlin’, she war jes as white as you am dis 
minute.” 

After some seconds of silence, Clara said, “ Tell me of her.” 

And Esha related many, though not all, of the particulars 
already familiar to the reader in the story of Estelle. 

“ Esha, you must give me some of that hair,” said Clara. 

u Yes, darlin’, I ’ll change half of it fur some ob yourn.” 

The exchange was made, Clara wrapping her portion in the 
little strip of bunting torn from the American flag. 

On the subject of her birth Clara had put to Mrs. Gentry 
some searching questions, but had learnt simply that her par- 
entage was unknown. For her concealed benefactor she had 
conceived a romantic attachment ; and gratitude incited her to 
make the best of her opportunities, and to patiently bear her 
chagrins. A 

A month after the late interview with Ratcliff, Mrs. Gentry 

* Od A8 contrary, Mrs. Kemble says they are cruelly treated, and that 
the forms of suffering are “ manifold and terrible ” in consequence. 

9 M 


194 


PECULIAR. 


received a letter which caused Clara to he summoned to her 
presence. 

“ Sit down. I Ve something important to communicate,” 
said the schoolmistress. “ You Ve often asked me to whom 
you are indebted for your support. Learn now that you be- 
long to Mr. Carberry Ratcliff, whom you met here some w r eeks 
ago. He is the rich planter whose house and grounds in 
Lafayette you Ve often admired.” 

“ Belong to him ? ” cried Clara. “ What do you mean ? 
Am I his daughter? Am I in any way related?” 

“ No, you ’re his slave. He bought you at auction.” 

Impulsive as her own mocking-bird by nature, Clara had 
learned that cruel lesson, which gifted children are often com- 
pelled to acquire when subjected to the rule of inferior minds, 
— the art, namely, of checking and disguising the emotions. 

Excepting a quivering of her lips, a flushing of her brow, a 
slight heaving of her bosom, and a momentary expression as 
of deadly sickness in her face, she did not betray, by outward 
signs, the intensity of that feeling of disgust, hate, and indigna- 
tion which Mrs. Gentry’s communication had aroused. 

“ Did Mr. Ratcliff request you to inform me that he con- 
sidered me his slave ? ” she asked, in a tone which, by a 
strenuous effort, she divested of all significance. 

“ Yes ; he concluded you are now of an age to understand 
the responsibilities of your real situation. He not only paid a 
price for you when you v r ere yet an infant, but he has main- 
tained you ever since. But for him you might have been 
toiling in the sun on a plantation. But for him you might 
never have got an education. But for him you might never 
have heard of salvation through Christ. But for him you might 
never have had the privilege of attending the Rev. Dr. Palmer’s 
Sunday school. Is there any sacrifice too great for you to 
make for such a master ? Would it be too much for you to lay 
-down your life for him? Speak!” 

Mrs. Gentry, it will be seen, pursued the Socratic method of 
impressing truth upon her pupils. As Clara made no reply to 
her interrogatories, she continued : “ As your instructress, it 
has been my object to make you feel sensibly the importance 
of doing your duty in whatever sphere you may be cast.” 


THE WHITE SLAVE, 


195 


“ And what, madame, may be the duty of a slave ? ” inter- 
posed Clara, stifling down and masking the rage of her 
heart. 

“ The duty of a slave,” said Mrs. Gentry, “ is to obey her 
master. Prompt and unhesitating obedience, that is her duty.” 

“ Obedience to any and every command, — is that what you 
mean, madame ? ” 

“ Unquestionably, it is.” 

“ And must I not exercise my reason as to what is right or 
wrong ? ” 

“ Your reason, under slavery, is subordinated to another’s. 
You must not set up your own reason against your master’s.” 

“ Supposing my master should order me to stab or poison 
you, — ought I to do it?” 

The judge’s daughter, like all who venture to vindicate the 
leprous wrong on moral grounds, found herself nonplussed. 

“ You suppose a ridiculous and improbable case,” she replied. 

“ Well, madame, let me state a fact. One of your pupils 
had a letter yesterday from a sister in Alabama, who wrote 
that a slave woman had killed herself under these circum- 
stances : her master had compelled her to unite herself in so- 
called marriage with a black man, though she fully believed a 
former husband still lived. To escape the abhorred conse- 
quence, she put an end to her life. Was that woman right or 
wrong in opposing her master’s will ? ” 

“ How can you ask ? ” returned Mrs. Gentry, reproachfully. 
u ’T is the slave’s duty to marry as the master orders.” 

“ Even though her husband be living, do I understand you ?” 

“ Undoubtedly. Ministers of the Gospel will tell you, if 
there ’s wrong in it, the master, not the slave, is to blame.” * 

“ I thank you for making the slave’s duty so clear. You ’re 
quite sure Dr. Palmer would approve your view ? ” 

“ Entirely. All his preaching on the subject convinces me 
of it.” \ 

“ And the woman, you think, who killed herself rather than 
be false to her husband, went straight to hell ? ” 

* The Savannah River Baptist Association of Ministers decreed (1836) 
that the slave, sold at a distance from his home, was not to be countenanced 
by the chnrch in resisting his master’s will that he should take a new wife. 


196 


PECULIAR. 


“ I can hope nothing better for her. She must have been a 
poor heathen creature, wholly ignorant of Scripture. Paul 
commands slaves to obey ; and the woman who wilfully violates 
his injunction does it at the peril of her soul.” 

Clara was* silent ; and Mrs. Gentry, felicitating herself on the 
powerful moral lesson adapted to her pupil’s “ new sphere of 
duty,” resumed, “ By the way, your master — ” 

“ Master ! ” shrieked Clara, running with upraised hands to 
Mrs. Gentry, as if to dash them down on her. Then suddenly 
checking herself, she said pleasantly : “ You see I ’m a little un- 
used to the name. What were you going to say ? ” 

“ Really, child, Dne would think you were out of your wits. 
It is n’t as if you were going to be consigned to a master who ’d 
abuse you. There ’s many a poor girl in our first society who ’d 
be glad to be taken care of as you ’ll be. Only think of it ! 
Here ’s a beautiful diamond ring for you. And here ’s a check 
for five hundred dollars for you to spend in dresses, and you ’re 
to have the selecting of them all yourself, — think of that ! — 
under my superintendence of course ; but Madame Groux tells 
me your taste is excellent, and I shall not interfere. ’T is now 
nine o’clock. We ’ll drive out this very forenoon to see what 
there is in the shops ; for Mr. Ratcliff may be here, any hour 
now. Run and get ready, that ’s a good girl. The carriage 
shall be here at half past ten.” 

Without touching, or even looking at, the ring, Clara ran up- 
stairs to her room, and, locking the door, knelt, with flushed, 
burning brow and brain, at a little prie-dieu in the corner. She 
did not try to put her prayer in words, for the emotions which 
swelled within her bosom were all unspeakable. Clara was 
intellectually a mystic, but the current of her individualism 
was too strong to be diverted from its course by ordinary influ- 
ences, whether from spirits in or out of the flesh. She was 
too positive to be constrained by other impulses than those 
which her own will, enlightened by her own reason, had gener- 
ated. So, while she felt assured that angelic witnesses were 
round about her, and that her every thought “ had a critic in 
the skies,” — and while she believed that, in one sense, nothing 
of mind or body was truly her own, — that she was but a vessel 
or recipient, — she keenly experienced the consciousness that 


THE WHITE SLAVE. 


197 


she was a free, responsible agent. O mystery beyond all 
fathoming ! O reconcilement of contrarieties which only Om- 
nipotence could effect, and only Omnipotence can explain ! 

She paced the floor of her little room, — looked her situation 
unflinchingly in the face, — and resolved, with God’s help, to 
gird herself for the strife. Her unknown benefactor, whom her 
imagination had so exalted, ah ! how poor a thing, hollow and 
corrupt, he had proved ! Could she ever forgive the man who 
had dared claim her as his slave ? 

And yet might she not misjudge him ? Might he not be 
plotting some generous surprise ? She recalled a single ex- 
pression of his face, and felt satisfied she did him no injustice. 
How hateful now seemed all those accomplishments she had 
acquired ! They were but the gilding of an abhorred chain. 

In the midst of her whirling thoughts, her mocking-bird, 
which had been pecking at some crumbs in his cage, burst into 
such a wild jubilate of song, that Clara’s attention was with- 
drawn for a moment even from her own great grief. Opening 
the door of the cage, she said : “ Come, Dainty, you too shall 
be free. The window is open. Go find a pleasant home 
among the trees and on the plantations.” 

The bird flew about her head, and alighted on her forefinger, 
as it had been accustomed. Clara pressed the down of its neck 
to her cheek, and then, taking the little songster to the window, 
threw it off her finger. Dainty flew back into the room, and, 
alighting on Clara’s head, pecked at her hair. 

“ Naughty Dainty ! Good by, my pet ! We must part. 
Freedom is best for both you and me.” And, putting her head 
out of the window, Clara brushed Dainty off into the airy void, 
and closed the glass against the bird’s return. 

She now summoned Esha, and said : “ Esha, we ’ve often 
wondered as to my true place in the world. The mystery is 
solved to-d%. Mrs. Gentry informs mel’ma slave.” 

“What! Wlia-a-a-t! You? You, too, a slabe ? My little 
darlin’ a slabe ? O, de good Lord in hebbn won’t ’low dat ! ” 

“ We ’ve but a moment for talk, Esha. Help me to act. 
My owner (owner !) may be here any minute.” 

“ Who am dat owner ? ” 

“ Mr. Carberry Ratcliff.” 


198 


PECULIAR. 


“No, — no, — no! Not slat man! Not him! De Lord help 
de dare chile if dat born debble wunst git hole ob her ! ” 

“ What do you know of him ? ” 

“ He war de cruel massa ob dat slabe gal whom you hab de 
hair ob in yer bosom.” 

“ I ’m glad of it ! ” cried Clara, throwing her clenched hand 
in the air, and looking up as if to have the heavens hear her. 

“ 0, darlin’ chile, what am dar ole Esha kn do for her ? ” 
Clara stopped short, and, pressing both hands on her fore- 
head, stood as if calling her best thoughts to a council of war, 
and then said, “ Can you get me a small valise, Esha ? ” 

“ Hab a carpet-bag I kn gib her. You jes wait one minute.” 
And Esha returned with the desired article. 

“ Now help me pack it with the things I shall most need. 
Mrs. Gentry expects me soon to go a-shopping with her. 
When she calls for me, I shall be missing. I ’ve not yet made 
up my mind where to go. I shall think on that as I walk 
along. What ’s the matter, Esha ? What do you stare at ? ” 

“ Look dar ! What yer see dar, darlin’ ? ” 

“ A pair of little sleeve-buttons. How pretty ! Gold with 
a setting of coral. And on the inside, in tiny letters, C. A. B.” 

“ Wall, dat ’s de ’stonishin’est ting I ’ze seen dis many a day. 
Ten — no, ’lebben — no, fourteen yars ago, as I war emptyin’ 
suds out ob de wash-tub, I see dese little buttons shinin’ on 
de groun’. ’T was de Monday arter you was browt here. 
Your little underdose had been in de wash. So what does I 
do but put de buttons in my pocket, tinkin’ I ’d gib ’em ter 
missis ter keep fur yer. ' But whan I look for ’em, dey was 
clean gone, — could n’t fine ’em nowhar. So I say noting t’ all 
’bout it. Jes now, as I tuk up fro’ my trunk a little muslin 
collar dat de dare saint I tell yer ’bout used ter wear, what 
sh’d drop from de foies but dis same little pair ob buttons dat I 
hab’nt seen fur all dese yars. Take ’em, darlin’, $r dey ’long 
ter you an’ ter nobody else.” 

“ Thank you, Esha. I ’ll keep them with my other treas- 
ures”; and Clara fastened them with a pin to the piece of 
bunting in her bosom. “ And now, good by. Pray for me, 
Esha.” 

“ Night and day, darlin’. But Esha mus gib suffn more ’n 


THE WHITE SLAVE. 


199 


prayers. Take dese twenty dollars in gold, darlin’. Yer ’ll 
want ’em, sure. Don’t ’fuze ’em.” 

“ How long have you been saving up tliis money, Eslia ? ” 

“ Bress de chile, only tree muntz. Dat ’s nuffn. You jes 
take ’em. Dar ! Dat ’s right. Tie ’em up safe in de corner 
ob yer hankerchy.” 

“ But, Esha, you may not be paid back till you get to 
heaven.” And Clara put on her bonnet, and spoke rapidly to 
choke down a sob. 

“ So much de better. Dar ! Put ’em safe in yer pocket. 
Dat’s a good chile.” 

Fearing a refusal would only grieve the old woman, Clara 
received and put away the gold-pieces. Then, closing the 
spring of the carpet-bag, she kissed Esha, and said, “ If they 
inquire for me, balk them as well as you can.” 

“ Leeb me alone fur dat, darlin’. An’ now yer mus’ go. De 
Lord an’ his proppet bless yer ! Allah keep yer ! De mudder 
ob God watch ober yer ! ” 

In these ejaculations Esha would hardly have been held as 
orthodox either by a mufti or a D. D. But what if, in the bal- 
ance of the All-Seeing, the sincere heart should outweigh the 
speculative head ? Poor old Esha was Mahometan through 
reverence for her father ; Catholic through influences from the 
family with whom she lived when a child ; and Protestant 
through knowledge of many good men and women of that faith. 
She cared not how many saints there were in her calendar. 
The more the merrier. All goodness in man or woman, of 
whatever race or sect, was deified in her simple and semi- 
barbarous conceptions. Poor, ignorant, sinful, unregenerate 
creature ! 

“ God bless you, Esha ! ” said Clara. “ Look ! There is 
poor Dainty perched on the window-sill. Plainly he is no 
Abolitionist. He prefers slavery. Take care of him.” 

“ Dat I will, if only for your sake, darlin’.” 

And the old woman let the bird in and closed the window ; 
and then — her bronzed face wet with tears — she conducted 
Clara to a back door of the house, from which the fugitive could 
issue, without being observed, into an obscure carriage-way. 


200 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XX. 

ENCOUNTERS AT THE ST. CHARLES. 

« Hail, year of God’s farming ! Hail, summer of an emancipated continent, which 
shall lay up in storehouse and barn the great truths that were worth the costly dressing 
of a people’s blood ! ” — Rev. John Weiss. 

I N one of the rooms of the St. Charles Hotel in New Orleans 
a man sat meditating. The windows looked out on a street 
where soldiers were going through their drill amid occasional 
shouts from by-standers. As the noise grew louder, the man 
rose and went to a window. He was hardly above the middle 
stature, slim and compact, but as lithe as if jointed like an eel. 
His hair was slightly streaked with gray. His features, though 
not full, spoke health, vigor, and pure habits of life ; while his 
white, well-preserved teeth, neatly trimmed beard, and well-cut, 
well-adjusted clothes showed that, as he left his youth behind 
him, his attention to his personal appearance did not decrease. 
Fourteen years had made but little change in Vance. It had 
not tamed the fire of his eyes nor slackened the alertness of 
his tread. 

As he caught sight of the “ stars and bars ” waving in the 
spring sunlight, an expression of scorn was emitted in his 
frown, and he exclaimed : “ Detested rag ! I shall yet five to 
trample you in the dirt on that very spot where you now 
flaunt so bravely. Shout on, poor fools ! Continue, ye un- 
reasoning cattle, to crop the flowery food, and lick the hand 
just raised to shed your blood. And you, too, leaders of the 
rank and file, led, in your turn, by South Carolina fire-eaters, 
go on and overtake that fate denounced by the prophet on evil- 
doers. Hug the strong delusion and believe the lie ! Declare, 
with the smatterers of the Richmond press, that Christian civ- 
ilization is a mistake, and that' the new Confederacy is a God- 
sent missionary to the nations to teach them that pollution is 
purity, and incest a boon from heaven. The time is not far 
distant when you shall learn how far the Eternal Powers are 
the allies of human laziness, arrogance, and lust ! ” 


ENCOUNTERS AT THE ST. CHARLES. 


201 


Suddenly the soliloquist seemed struck by the appearance 
of some one in the crowd ; for, taking from his pocket an opera- 
glass, and regulating the focus, he looked through it, then mut- 
tered : “ Yes, it is he ! Poor maggot ! What haughtiness in 
his look ! ” 

Just then a man on horseback, in the dress of a civilian, 
and followed by a slave, also mounted, rode forward nearer to 
where Yance sat at his window. A multitude gathered round 
the foremost equestrian, and called for a speech. “ The Kun- 
nle is jest frum South Kerlinay,” exclaimed a swarthy inebri- 
ate, who seemed to be spokesman for the mob. “ A speech 
frum Kunnle Ratcliff ! Hoorray ! ” 

Ratcliff, with a gesture of annoyance, rose in his stirrups, 
and said: “ Friends, I’ve nothing to tell you that you can’t 
find better told in the newspapers. This is no time for talk. 
We want action now. All ’s right at Charleston. Sumter 
has fallen. That ’s the first great step. The Yankees may 
bluster, but they ’ll never fight. The meanest white man at 
the South is more than a match for any five Yankees. We ’ll 
have them begging to be let into our Southern Confederacy 
before Christmas. But we won’t receive ’em. No ! As Jeff 
Davis well says, sooner' hyenas than Yankees ! But we must 
whip them into decency. And so, before the next Fourth of 
July, we mean to have our flag flying over Faneuil Hall. We 
are the master race, my friends ! We must show these nigger- 
stealing, beggarly Yankees that they must stand cap in hand 
when they venture to come into our presence. Don’t believe 
the croakers who tell you slavery will be weakened by seces- 
sion. It ’s going to be strengthened. So convinced am I of 
it, that I ’ve doubled my number of slaves ; and if any of you 
wish to sell, bring on your niggers ! Do you see that flag ? 
Well, that flag has got to wave over all Mexico, Cuba, and 
Central America. In five years from now every man of you 
shall own his score of niggers and his hundred acres of land. 
So go ahead, and aim low when you sight a Yankee.” 

The speech was received with cheers, and Ratcliff started his 
horse ; but the leading loafer of the crowd seized the reins, and 
said : “ Can’t let yer off so, Kunnle, — can’t no how you kun 
fix it. We want a reg’lar game speech, sich as you kun make 
9 * 


202 


PECULIAR. 


when you dam please. So fire up, and do your prettiest. 
Be n’t we the master race ? ” 

“ Pshaw ! Let go those reins,” said Ratcliff, cutting the 
vagabond over his face with the but-end of a riding-whip. 

The crowd laughed, and the loafer, astonished and sobered, 
dropped the reins, and put his hand to his eye, which had been 
badly hit. Ratcliff rode on, but a muttered curse went after him. 

Seeing the loafer stand feeling of his eye as if it was hurt, 
"Vance said to him from the window : “ Go to the apothecary’s, 
and tell him to give you something to bathe it in.” 

“ Go ter the ’pothecary’s ! 'With nary a red in my pocket ! 
Strannger, don’t try to fool this child.” 

“ Here ’s money, if you want it.” 

“ Money ? I should like ter see the color of it, strannger.” 

“ Hold your hat, then.” 

And Vance dropped into the hat something wrapped in a 
newspaper which the loafer incredulously unfolded. Finding in 
it a five-dollar gold-piece, he stared first at the money, then at 
Vance, and said : “ Strannger, I ’d say, God bless yer, if I 

did n’t think, what a poor cuss like I could say would rayther 
harm than help. Have n’t no influence with God A’mighty, 
strannger. But you ’re a man, — you air, — not a sneakin’ 
’ristocrat as despises a poor white feller more ’n he does a 
nigger. I ’ve seen yer somewhar afore, but can ’t say whar.” 

“ Go and attend to your eye, my friend,” said Vance. 

“ I will. An’ if ever I kun do yer a good turn, jes call on ” 

Vance could not hear the name ; but he bowed, and the 
loafer moved on. Looking in another direction, Vance saw 
Ratcliff dismount, throw the reins to his attendant, and disap- 
pear in a vestibule of the hotel. Vance rose and wildly paced 
the room. His whole frame quivered to the very tips of his 
fingers, which he stretched forth as if to clutch some invisible 
antagonist. He muttered incoherent words, and, smiting his 
brow as if to keep back thoughts that struggled too tumultu- 
ously for expression, cried : “ O that I had him here, — here, 
face to face, — weaponless, both of us ! Would I not — The 
merciless villain ! The cowardly miscreant ! To lash a wo- 
man ! That moment of horror ! Often as I ’ve lived it over, 
it is ever new. Can eternity make it fade ? Again I see her, — 


ENCOUNTERS AT THE ST. CHARLES. 


203 


pale, very pale and bleeding, — and tied, — tied to the stake. 
O Ratcliff! Wien shall this bridled vengeance overtake thee? 
Pshaw! What is he , — an individual, — what is the sum of 
pain that he can suffer ? Would that be a requital ? Will not 
his own devices work better for me than aught I can do ? ” 

Seating himself in an arm-chair, Vance calmed his vindictive 
thoughts. In memory he went back to that day when he first 
heard Estelle sing ; then to their first evening in Mrs. Mallet’s 
little house; then to the old magnolia-tree before it. That 
house he had bought and given in keeping to Airs. Bernard, a 
married granddaughter of old Leroux, the Frenchman. Every 
tree and shrub in the area had been reverently cared for. Had 
not Estelle plucked blossoms from them all ? 

He thought of his marriage, — of his pleasant walks with 
Estelle in Jackson Square, — of their musical enjoyments, — of 
all her little devices to minister to his comfort and delight, — 
and then of the sudden clouding of this brief but most exquisite 
sunshine. 

Vance took from the pocket of his vest a little circular box 
of rosewood. Unscrewing the cover, he revealed a photograph 
of Estelle, taken after her marriage. There was such a smile 
on the countenance as only the supreme happiness of a loving 
heart -could have created. On the opposite circle was a curl of 
her hair of that strangely beautiful neutral tint which Vance had 
often admired. This he pressed to his lips. “ Dear saint,” he 
murmured, “I have not forgotten thy parting words. For thy 
sake will I wrestle with this spirit that would seek a 'paltry 
revenge. Thy smile, O my beloved ! shall dispel the remem- 
brance of thy agony, and thy love shall conquer all earth-born 
hate. For thy dear sake will I still calmly meet thy murderer. 
O, lend me of thy divine patience to endure his presence! 
Sweet child, affectionate and pure, I can dream of nothing in 
heaven more precious than thyself. If from thee, 0 my be- 
loved ! come this spiritual refreshing and reinforcement, — if 
from thee these tender influences, so bright and yet so gentle, — 
then must thy sphere be one within which the angels delight to 
come.” 

There was a knock at the door. Vance shut the box, re- 
placed it in his pocket, and cried, “ Come in ! ” 


204 


PECULIAR. 


“ Colored man down stars, sar, wants to see yer.” 

“ Did he give his name ? ” 

“ Yes, sar, he say his name is Jacobs.” 

“ Show him up.” 

A negro now entered wearing green spectacles, and a wig of 
gray wool. Across his cheek there was a scar. No sooner was 
the door closed upon the waiter, than Vance exclaimed: “Is 
it possible ? Can this be you, Peek ? ” 

Peek threw off his disguises, and Vance seized him by the 
hand as he might have seized a returning brother. 

“ What of your wife and child ? Have you found ’em ? ” 

“No, Mr. Vance, I’m still a wanderer over the earth in 
search of them. I shall find them in God’s good time.” 

“ Sit down, Peek.” 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Vance, I ’d rather stand.” 

'* “ Very well. Then I ’ll stand too.” 

“ Since you make it a point of politeness, sir, I ’ll sit.” 

“That’s right. And now, my dear fellow, tell me what 
you ’ve been about these many years. Surely you ’ve dis- 
covered some traces of the lost ones?” 

“ None that have been of much use, Mr. Vance. I ’m satis- 
fied that Flora was lured on to Baltimore by some party who 
deceived her with the expectation of meeting me there. JF rom 
Baltimore she and her child were taken to Richmond by the 
agent of her old master, and sold at auction to a dealer, who 
soon afterwards died. There the clew breaks.” 

“My poor Peek, your not finding her has probably saved 
you from a deeper disappointment.” 

“ What do you mean, Mr. Vance ? ” 

“The chance is, she has been forced to marry some other 
man.” 

“ I know, sir, that would be the probability in the case of 
ninety-nine slave-women out of a hundred. But Flora once 
swore to me on the crucifix, she would be true to me or die. 
And I feel very certain she will keep her oath.” 

“Ah! slavery is so crafty and remorseless in working on 
human passions,” sighed Vance. “ But you are right, my dear 
Peek, in hoping on. Tell me of your adventures.” 

“ When you and I parted at Memphis, Mr. Vance, I went tA 


ENCOUNTERS AT THE ST. CHARLES. 


205 


Montreal. Flora had left there some weeks before. At New 
York I sought out Mr. Charlton ; also the policemen. But I 
could get nothing out of them. At length a Canadian told me 
he had met Flora on board the Baltimore boat. T followed up 
the clew till it broke, as I ’ve told you. Since then I ’ve been 
seeking my wife and boy through all the Cotton States. The 
money you gave me from Mr. Berwick lasted me seven years ; 
and then I had to work to get the means of continuing my 
search. There are not many counties in the Slave States 
which I have not visited.” 

“ During your travels, Peek, you must have had opportuni* 
ties of helping on the good cause.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Vance. I needed some strong motive to send me 
far and wide among my poor brethren. Without it I might 
have led a selfish life, content with my own comforts. But 
God has ordered it all right. I bought a pass as an old slave 
preacher, and thus was able to visit the plantations, and estab- 
lish secret societies in the cause of freedom. Give the slaves 
arms, treat them like men, and they will fight. But they will 
not rise unarmed in useless insurrection. As soon as the North 
will give them the means of defending their freedom, they will 
break their fetters. It is the North, and not the South, that 
now holds the slave in check.”. 

“ Yes, Peek ; public sentiment is almost as much poisoned at 
the North as at the South, by this slavery virus.” 

“ And what have you , sir, been about all these years ? ” 

“ Much of my time has been spent in Kansas. I ’ve been a 
border ruffian.” 

“ A sham one, I suppose ? ” 

“ Well, Peek, so seriously did I play my part, that perhaps 

I shall go down in history as one of the pro-slavery leaders. 

John Brown of Ossawatomie would at one time have shot me 

on sight. He afterwards understood me better, — understood 
© 

that, if I fraternized with the pro-slavery crew, it was to thwart 
their schemes. The rascals were continually astounded at find- 
ing their bloodiest secrets revealed to the Abolitionists, and 
little suspected that one of their most trusted advisers was the 
informer. Yes ! I helped on the madness which God sends 
to those he means to destroy. Baffled in California, the devil 


206 


PECULIAR. 


of slavery set liis heart on establishing his altars in Kansas. 
How effectually we have headed him off! And now the fren- 
zied idiot wants secession and a slave empire. Heaven forbid 
I should arrest him in his fatuity ! Let me rather help it on.” 

“ Are you, then, a secessionist, Mr. Vance ? ” 

“ In one sense : I ’m for secession from slavery by annihilat- 
ing it, holding on to the Union. I was at the great Nashville 
convention. I’ve been the last few months watching things 
here in conservative Louisiana. She will have to follow South 
Carolina. That little vixen among States cracks the over- 
seer’s whip over our heads, and threatens us with her sover- 
eign displeasure for our timidity. She has. nearly frightened 
poor Governor Moore out of his boots.” 

“ I ’ve been thinking much lately,” said Peek, “ of our ad- 
venture on board the Pontiac. What ever became of Colonel 
Delaney Hyde ? ” 

“ The Colonel,” replied Vance, “ for a time wooed fortune 
in Kansas, but did n’t win her. Since then I ’ve lost him.” 

“ The last I heard of him,” said Peek, “ he had quarrelled 
with a fellow at a cock-fight in Montgomery, and been wound- 
ed ; and his sister, a decent woman, was tending on him.” 

“ I confess I ’ve a weakness for the Colonel,” said Vance, 
“ though unquestionably he ’s a great scoundrel.” 

“ Did you ever learn, Mr. Vance, what became of that yellow 
girl he coveted ? ” 

“ She and the child were drowned,” was the reply. 

“ What proof of that did you ever have ? ” 

“ My first endeavor, after the accident,” said Vance, a was 
to serve the man to whom I had owed my own life ; and it was 
not till I saw you secure from Hyde, and your scalds taken 
care of, I learnt from Judge Onslow that the Berwicks, hus- 
band and wife, had died from their wounds.” 

“ Were their bodies ever recovered ? ” 

“ Those of the husband and wife I saw and recognized. But 
not half the bodies of the drowned were recovered, so strong 
was the current. It was not surprising, therefore, that the 
child and nurse should be of this number. Two of the passen- 
gers testified to seeing them in the river, — tried ineffectually 
to save them, and saw them go under.” 


ENCOUNTERS AT THE ST. CHARLES. 


207 


“ Did you ever learn who those passengers were ? ” 

“ No. But I satisfied myself, so far as I could from human 
testimony, that the child was not among the saved. Business 
called me suddenly to New Orleans. Why do you ask ? ” 

“ Excuse me. Were you never summoned as a witness on 
the trial which gave Mr. Charlton the Berwick property ? ” 

“ Never. Perhaps one of the inconveniences of my aliases 
is, that my friends do not often know where to find me, or how 
to address me. I was not aware there had been a trial.” 

“ Nor was I,” said Peek, “ until a few weeks ago. At the 
Exchange Hotel in Montgomery, I waited on Captain Ireton 
of the army, who, learning that I had had dealings with Charl- 
ton, informed me that his (Ireton’s) grandfather had been a 
party to a lawsuit growing out of the loss of the Pontiac, but 
that the case had been decided in Charlton’s favor. When 
Captain Ireton learned that I, too, had been on the Pontiac, he 
put me many questions, in the course of which I learned that 
the evidence as to the death of the child and her nurse rested 
solely on the testimony of Colonel Delaney Hyde and his 
friend, Leonidas Quattles.” 

Vance started up and paeed the floor, striking both palms 
against his forehead. “ Dupe and fool that I ’ve been ! ” he 
exclaimed. “ Deep as I thought myself, this thick-skulled 
Hyde has been deeper still. I ’ve been outwitted by a low 
rascal and blockhead. In all my talk with Hyde about the 
explosion, he never intimated to me that he had ever testified 
as a witness in a suit growing out of the accident. Never 
would he have kept silent on such a point if he had n’t been 
guilty. He and Quattles and Charlton ! What possible ras- 
cality might not have been hatched apiong the three ! Of 
course there was knavery ! What was the amount of property 
in suit ? ” 

“ More than a million of dollars, — so Ireton told me.” 

“ A million ? The father and mother dead, — then prove 
that the child — But stop. I ’m going too fast. Hyde 
could n’t have been interested in having it supposed that the 
child was dead. How could he have known about the Ber- 
wick property ? ” 

“ But might he not have tried to kidnap the yellow girl ? ” 


208 


PECULIAR. 


“ There you hit it, Peek ! Dolt that I ’ve been not to think 
of that ! I remember now that Hyde once said to me, the 
yellow girl would bring sixteen hundred dollars in New Or- 
leans. Well, supposing he took the yellow girl, what could he 
do with the white child ? ” 

“ Can you, of all men, Mr. Vance, not guess ? He could 
sell the child as a slave. Or, if he wanted to make her bring 
a little better price, he could tinge her skin just enough to give 
it a slight golden hue.” 

Vance wet a towel in iced water, and pressed it on his fore- 
head. 

“ But you pierce my heart, Peek, by the bare suggestion 
of such things,” he said. “ That poor child ! Clara was her 
name, — a bright, affectionate little lady ! Should Hyde have 
given false testimony in regard to her death, I shudder to think 
what may have become of her. She, born to affluence, may be 
at this moment a wretched menial, or worse, a trained Cyprian, 
polluted, body and soul. Why was I not more thorough in my 
investigations ? But perhaps ’t is not too late to prove the vil- 
lany, if villany there has been.” 

“ Hyde may be able to put you on the right track,” sug- 
gested Peek. 

Vance sat down, and for five minutes seemed lost in medi- 
tation. Then, starting up, he said : “ Where would you next 
go in pursuit of your wife and child ? ” 

“ To Texas,” replied Peek. 

“ To Texas you shall go. Would you venture to face Colonel 
Hyde?” 

“ With these green goggles I would face any of my old mas- 
ters ; and the scalds upon my face would alone prevent my 
being known.” 

“ I can get you a pass from the Mayor himself, so that you ’d 
not be molested. Find Hyde, and bring him to me at any cost. 
Money will do it. When can you start ? ” 

“ By the next boat, — in half an hour.” 

“ All right. Make your home at Bernard’s when you return. 
The house is mine. Here ’s the direction. Here ’s a pass from 
the Mayor which I ’ve filled up for you. And here ’s money, 
which you need n’t stop to count. Good by ! ” 


ENCOUNTERS AT THE ST. CHARLES. 


’ 209 


And, with a grasp of the hand, they parted, and Peek quitted 
the hotel to take the boat for Galveston. 

He had no sooner gone than Vance went down-stairs to the 
dining-hall. Most of the guests had finished their dinners ; but 
at a small table near that at which he took his seat were a 
company of four, lingering over the dessert. 

Senator Wigman, a puffy, red-faced man, had been holding 
forth on the prospective glories of the Confederacy. 

“ Yes, sir,” said he, refilling his glass with Burgundy, “ with 
the rest of the world we ’ll trade, but never, never with the 
Yankees. Not one pound of cotton shall ever go from the 
South to their accursed cities ; not one ounce of their steel 
or their manufactures shall ever cross our borders.” And Wig- 
man emptied his glass at a single gulp. 

“ Good for Wigman ! ” exclaimed Mr. Robson, a round, full- 
faced young man, rather fat, and wearing gold-rimmed specta- 
cles. “ But what about Yankee ice, Wigman ? Will you de- 
prive us of that also ? And tell me, my Wigman, why is it 
that, since you despise these Yankees so intensely, you allow 
your children to remain at school in Massachusetts ? Is n’t 
that a little inconsistent, my Wigman ? ” 

Wigman was obliged to refill his glass before he could sum- 
mon his thoughts for a reply. 

“ Mr. Robson,” he then said, “ you ’re a scholar, and must 
be aware that the ancient Spartans, in order to disgust their 
children with intemperance, used to make their slaves drunk. 
If I send my children among the Yankees, it is that they may 
be struck by the superiority of the Southern character when 
they return home.” 

“ So you ’ve no faith in the old maxim touching evil com- 
munications,” said Robson, taking a bottle of Champagne, and 
easing the cork so as to send it to the ceiling with a loud pop. 
“ Now, gentlemen, bumpers all round ! Onslow, let me fill 
your glass ; Kenrick, yours. Drink to my sentiment. Here ’s 
confusion to the old concern ! ” 

Vance was just lifting a spoonful to his lips ; but he returned 
it to his plate as he heard the name of Onslow, and looked 
round. Yes, it was surely he ! — the boy of the Pontiac, now 
a handsome youth of twenty-four. On his right sat the young 


210 


PECULIAR. 


man addressed as Kenrick. At the latter Vance hardly looked, 
so intent was he on Onslow’s response. 

Wigman spoke first. Holding up his glass, and amorously 
eyeing the salmon hue of the wine, he exclaimed : “ Agreed ! 
Here ’s confusion to the old con-hiccup-concern ! ” 

The Senator’s unfortunate hiccup elicited inextinguishable 
laughter from the rest, until Robson rapped with the handle 
of his knife on the table, and cried : “ Order ! order ! Gen- 
tlemen, I consider that man a sneaking traitor who ’ll not get 
drunk in behalf of sentiments like those our friend the Senator 
has been uttering.” 

“ Look here, young man, do you mean to insinuate that I ’m 
getting drunk,” said Wigman, angrily. 

“ Far from it, Wigman, Any one can see you ’re not getting 
drunk.” i 

“ I accept the apology,” said Wigman, with maudlin dignity. 

“ Well, then, gentlemen,” cried Robson, “ now for the pre- 
vious question ! Confusion to the old concern ! ” 

Wigman and Onslow drank to the sentiment, but Kenrick, 
calling a negro waiter, handed the glass to him, and said : 
“ Throw that to the pigs, and bring me a fresh glass.” 

“ Halloo ! What the deuce do you mean by that ? ” cried 
Robson. “ Have we a Bourbon among us ? Have we a 
Yankee sympathizer among us ? Is it possible ? Does Mr. 
Charles Kenrick of Kenrick, son of Robert Kenrick, Esq., 
Confederate M. C., and heir to a thousand niggers, refuse to 
drink to the downfall of Abolitionism, and those other isms 
against which we ’ve drawn the sword and flung away the 
scabbard ? ” 

d “ Yes, by Jove ! ” interposed Wigman. “ And we ’ll wel- 
come our invaders with — with — ■” 

“ With bloody hands to hospitable graves,” said Robson. 
“ Speak quick, my Wigman. That ’s the Southern formula, I 
believe, invented, like the new song of Dixie , by an imperti- 
nent Yankee. It ’s devilish hard we have to import from 
these blasted Yankees the very slang and music we turn 
against them.” 

“ Answer me, Mr. Charles Kenrick,” said Wigman, assum- 
ing a front of judicial severity, “ did you mean any offence to 


ENCOUNTERS AT THE ST. CHARLES. 


211 


the Confederacy by dishonoring the sentiment of hostility to 
its enemy ? ” 

“ Damn the Confederacy ! ” said Kenrick. 

“ Hear him,” said Robson. “ Was there ever such blas- 
phemy ? Please write it down, Onslow, that he damns the 
Confederacy. And write Wigman down an — No matter 
for that part of it! We shall hear Kenrick blaspheming 
slavery by and by.” 

“ Damn slavery ! ” said Kenrick. 

“ Kenrick is joking,” said Onslow. 

“ Kenrick was never more serious in his life, Mr. Onslow ! ” 

“ Look here, my dear fellow,” said Robson, “ there are sanc- 
tities which must not be invaded, even under the privilege of 
Champagne. Insult the Virgin Mary, traduce the Holy Trin- 
ity, profane the Holy of holies, say that Jeff Davis is n’t a 
remarkable man, as much as you please, but beware how you 
speak ill of the peculiar institution. We ’ll twist the noose for 
you with a pleased alacrity unless you retract those wicked 
words, and do penance in two tumblers of Heidsieck drunk in 
expiation of your horrible levity.” 

“ Damn slavery ! ” reiterated Kenrick. 

“ He ’s a subject for the Committee of Safety,” suggested 
Wigman. 

“ Kenrick is playing with us all this while,” said Onslow. 
f( Come ! Confess it, old schoolfellow ! You honor the new 
flag as much as I do.” 

“ I ’ll show you how much I honor it,” said Kenrick ; and, 
going to a table where a small Confederate flag was stuck in a 
leg of bacon, he tore off the silken emblem, ripped it in four 
parts, and, casting it on the floor, put his foot on the fragments 
and spat on them. 

Wigman drew a small bowie-knife from a pocket inside of 
his vest, and, starting to his feet, kicked back his chair, and 
rushed with somewhat tortuous motion towards Kenrick ; but, 
having miscalculated his powers of equilibrium, the Senator fell 
helplessly on the floor, and dropped his knife. Robson kicked 
it to a distant part of the room, and, helping Wigman to his 
feet, placed him in his chair, and counselled him not to try it 
again. 


212 


PECULIAR. 


“ It is to me that Mr. Kenrick must answer for this insult to 
the flag,” said Onslow. 

Kenrick bowed. Then, resuming his seat, he took a fresh 
glass, and, filling it till it overflowed with Champagne, rose and 
exclaimed: “The Union ! not as it was , but as it shall be, with 
universal freedom, — from the St. Croix to the Rio Grande, — 
from Cape Cod to the Golden Gate ! ” Kenrick touched his 
lips reverently to the wine, then put it down, and, taking from 
his bosom a beautiful American flag made of silk, shook it out, 
and said, “ Here, gentlemen, is my religion.” 

Onslow made a snatch at it, but Kenrick warded off his grip, 
and, folding and returning the flag to the inner pocket of his 
vest, calmly took his seat as if nothing had happened. 

All this while Vance had been gazing on Kenrick intently, 
as if wrestling in thought with some inexplicable mystery. 
“ Strange ! ” he murmured. “ The very counterpart of my 
own person as I was at twenty-three ! My very features ! 
My very figure ! The very color of my hair ! And then, — 
what my mother often told me was a Carteret peculiarity, — 
when lie smiles, that fan-like radiation of fine wrinkles under 
the temples from the outer corner of the eye ! What does it 
all mean ? I know of no relation of the name of Kenrick.” 

“ I shall not sit at table with a traitor,” cried Onslow. 

“ Then keep standing all the time,” said Kenrick. 

“ Nonsense ! I thought we were all philosophers in this 
company,” interposed Robson, who, having had large commer- 
cial dealings with the elder Kenrick, was in no mood to see 
the son harmed. “ Sit down, Onslow ! Wigman, keep your 
seat. Now, waiter, green glasses all round, and a bottle of 
that sparkling Moselle. They ’ll know at the bar what I 
mean.” 

Onslow resumed his seat. Wigman stiffened himself up and 
drew nearer to the table, fired at the prospect of a fresh bottle. 

At this juncture Mr. George Sanderson, a Northern man 
with Southern principles, in person short, vulgar, and flashily 
dressed, the very beau ideal of a bar-room rowdy, having heard 
the clink of glasses, and sighted from the corridor an array of 
bottles, was seized with one of his half-hourly attacks of thirst- 
iness, and entered to join the party, although Wigman was the 


ENCOUNTERS AT THE ST. CHARLES. 


213 


only one he knew. The latter introduced him to the rest. 
Robson uncorked the Moselle, and asked, “ Now that Sumter 
has fallen, what ’s next on the programme ? ” 

“ Washington must be taken,” said Sanderson. 

u We must winter in Philadelphia,” said Wigman. 

“ In what capacity ? As conquerors or as captives ? ” said 
Kenrick. 

“ Is the gentleman at all shaky ? ” asked Sanderson. 

“ He has been shamming Abolitionism,” replied Onslow. 

“ He damns slavery,” cried the indignant Wigman. 

“ He ’s sure to go to hell for that,” said Robson ; “ interces- 
sion can’t save him. He has committed the unpardonable sin. 
The Rev. Dr. Palmer has recently made researches in theology 
which satisfy himself and me and the rest of the saints, that 
the sin against the Holy Ghost is in truth nothing less than to 
be an Abolitionist.” 

“ What is your private opinion of the Yankees, Mr. Sander- 
son ? ” asked Kenrick. “ Do you think they ’ll fight ? ” 

“ No, sir-r-r. Fifty thousand Confederates could walk through 
the Northern States, and plant their colors on every State cap- 
ital north of Mason and Dixon’s line. They could whip any 
army the Yankees could bring against them.” 

“ Then you think the Yankees are cowards, eh ? ” 

“ Compared with the Southerners, — yes!” said Sanderson, 
holding up his glass for the waiter to refill. 

“ His opinion is that of an expert. He ’s himself a Yankee ! ” 
cried Robson. 

“ I see Mr. Sanderson soars far above the spirit of the old 
proverb touching the bird that fouls its nest,” said Kenrick. 

“ Order ! ” cried Robson. “ Mr. Sanderson is a philosopher. 
He disdains vulgar prejudices. To him the old nest is straw 
and mud, and the old flag is a bit of bunting. Is n’t it so, 
Sanderson ? ” 

“ Exactly so,” said Sanderson, a little puzzled by Robson’s 
persiflage, and seeking relief from it in another glass of wine. 
But, finding the Moselle bottle empty, he applied himself to a 
decanter labelled Old Monongahela. 

A sudden snore from Wigman, who had fallen asleep in his 
chair, startled the party once more into laughter. 


214 


PECULIAR. 


a Happy Wigman ! ” said Hobson. “ He smiles. He is 
dreaming of slavery extension into benighted, slaveless Mex- 
ico, — of Cuba annexed, and her stupidly mild slave-code 
reformed, — of tawny-hued houries, metifs, and quarteroons 
fanning him while he reposes, — of unnumbered Yankees 
howling over their lost trade, and kneeling vainly for help to 
him, — to Wigman ! Profound Wigman ! Behold the great 
man asleep ! Happy Texas in having such a representative ! 
Happy Jeff Davis in having such a counsellor ! Gentlemen, 
my feelings grow too effusive. I must leave you. The din- 
ner has been good. The wine has been good. I must make 
one criticism, however. The young gentlemen are degenerate. 
They do not drink. Look at them. They are perfectly sober. 
What is the world coming to ? At our hotels, where twenty 
years ago we used to see fifty — yes, a hundred — champagne 
bottles on the dinner-table, we now don’t see ten. And yet 
men talk of the progress of the age ! ’T is all a delusion. 
The day of juleps has gone by. We are receding in civiliza- 
tion. Wigman is a type of the good old times, — a landmark, 
a pattern for the rising generation. To his immortal honor be 
it recorded, that after that most heroic achievement of this or 
any other age, the subjugation of Anderson’s little starving 
garrison in Sumter by Beauregard, Wigman started in a small 
boat for the fort. Wigman landed. Wigman was the first to 
land. He entered one of the bomb-proofs. The first thought 
of a vulgar mind would have been to fly the victorious flag. 
Not so Wigman. On a shelf he saw a bottle. With a sub- 
lime self-abandonment he saw nothing else. He seized it ; he 
uncorked it ; he drank from it. And it was not till he had 
exhausted the last drop, that he learnt from the surgeon it was 
poison. 0 posterity ! don’t be ungrateful and forget this pic- 
ture when you think of Sumter. Our Wigman was saved to 
us by an emetic. Hand him down, ye future Hildreths and 
Motleys of America. Unconscious Wigman ! He responds 
with another rhoncus. Mr. Sanderson, I leave him to your 
generous care. Gentlemen, good by ! ” And without waiting 
for a reply, Robson received his hat from the attentive waiter, 
waved a bow to the party, and waddled out of the hall. 

Mr. Sanderson, seeing that a bottle of Chateau Margaux 


ENCOUNTERS AT THE ST. CHARLES. 


215 


was but half emptied, sighed that he had not detected it sooner. 
Filling a goblet with the purple fluid, he drained it in long and 
appreciative draughts, rolling the smooth juice over liis tongue, 
and carefully savoring the bouquet. Having emptied this bot- 
tle, he sighted another nearly two thirds full of champagne. 
Sanderson felt a pang at the thought that there was a limit to 
man’s ability to quaff* good liquor. He, however, went up to 
the attack bravely, and succeeded in disposing of two full tum- 
blers. Then a spirit of meek, content at his bibulous achieve- 
ments seemed to come over him. He put his thumbs in the 
arm-holes of his vest, leaned back, and benignantly said, “ This 
warm weather has made me a trifle thirsty.” 

Wigman suddenly started from his sleep, wakened by the 
cessation of noise. Sanderson rose, and assisted the Senator 
to his feet. “ Come, my dear fellow,” said he, “ it ’s time to 
adjourn. Good by, young gentlemen ! ” And arm in arm the 
two worthies staggered out of the hall, each under the impres- 
sion that the other was the worse for liquor, and each affec- 
tionately counselling the other not to expose himself. 

Vance still sat at his table, and from behind a newspaper 
glanced occasionally at the two young men who had so excited 
his interest. 

“ Now, Kenrick,” said Onslow, “ now that Robson the 
impenetrable, and Wigman the windy, and Sanderson the 
beastly, are out of the way, tell me what you mean by your 
incomprehensible conduct. When we met at table to-day, the 
first time for five years, I did not dream that you were other 
than you used to be, the enthusiastic champion of the South 
and its institutions.” 

“ You wonder,” replied Kenrick, “ that I should express my 
detestation of the Rebellion and its cause, — of the Confederacy 
and its corner-stone, — that I should differ from my father, who 
believes in slavery. How much more reasonably might I 
wonder at your apostasy from truths which such a man as 
your father holds ! ” 

“ My father i3 an honorable man, — an excellent man,” 
said Onslow ; “ but — ” 

“But,” interrupted Kenrick, “if you were sincere just now 
in the epithet you flung at me, you consider him also a traitor. 


216 


PECULIAR. 


Now a traitor is one who betrays a trust. What trust has 
your father betrayed?” 

“ He does not stand by his native State in her secession 
from the old Union,” answered Onslow. 

“ But what if he holds that his duty to the central govern- 
ment is paramount to his duty to his State ? ” asked Kenrick. 

“ That I regard as an error,” replied Onslow. 

“ Then by your own showing,” said Kenrick, “ all that you 
can fairly say is, that your father has erred in judgment, — not 
that he has been guilty of a base act of treason.” 

“No, I did n’t mean that, Charles, — your pardon,” said 
Onslow, holding out his hand. 

Kenrick cordially accepted the proffered apology, and then 
asked : “ May I speak frankly to you, Robert, — speak as I 
used to in the old times at William and Mary’s ? ” 

“ Certainly. Proceed.” 

“ Your father literally obeyed the Saviour’s injunction. He 
gave up all he had, to follow where truth led. Convinced 
that slavery was a w*»ang, he ruined his fortunes in the attempt 
to substitute free labor for that of slaves. Through the 
hostility of the slave interest the experiment failed.” 

“I think,” said Onslow, “my father acted unwisely in 
sacrificing his fortunes to an abstraction.” 

“ An abstraction ! The man who tries to undo a wrong is 
an abstractionist, is he? What a world this would be if all 
men would be guilty of similar abstractions. To such a one 
I would say, ‘ Master, lead on, and I will follow thee, to the 
last gasp, with truth and loyalty!’ Strange! unaccountably 
strange, that his own son should have deserted him for the 
filthy flesh-pots of slavery ! ” 

“ May not good men differ as to slavery ? ” asked Onslow. 

“ Put that question,” replied Kenrick, “ to nine tenths of the 
slaveholders, — men in favor of lynching, torturing, murdering, 
those opposed to the institution. Put it to Mr. Carson, who, 
the other day, in his own house, shot down an unarmed and 
unsuspecting visitor, because he had freely expressed views 
opposed to slavery. Abolitionists don’t hang men for not 
believing with them, — do they? But the whole code and 
temper of the South reply to you, that men may not differ, 


ENCOUNTERS AT THE ST. CHARLES. 


217 


and shall not differ, on the subject of slavery. Onslow, give 
me but one thing, — and that a thing guaranteed by the 
Constitution of the United States, though never tolerated in 
the Slave States, — give me liberty of the press in those States, 
and I, as a friend of the Union, would say to the government 
at Washington, ‘ Put by the sword. Wait ! I will put down 
this rebellion. I have the pen and the press ! Therefore is 
slavery doomed, and its days are numbered.’ ” 

“ Why is it,” asked Onslow, “ if slavery is wrong, that you 
find all the intelligence, all the culture, at the South, and even 
in the Border States, on its side ? ” 

“ Ah ! there,” replied Kenrick, “ there ’s the sunken rock on 
which you and many other young men have made wreck of 
your very souls. Your sesthetic has superseded your moral 
natures. To work is in such shocking bad taste, when one can 
make others work for one ! ” 

“ Nine tenths of the men at the South of any social posi- 
tion,” said Onslow, “ are in favor of secession.” 

“ I know itj” returned Kenrick, “ and the sadder for human 
nature that it should be so ! In Missouri, in Kentucky, in 
Virginia, in ’Baltimore, all the young men who would be 
considered fashionable, all who thoughtlessly or heartlessly 
prize more their social status than they do justice and right, 
follow the lead of the pro-slavery aristocracy. I know from 
experience how hard it is to break loose from those social and 
family ties. But I thank God I’ve succeeded. ’Twas like 
emerging from mephitic vapors into the sweet oxygen of a 
clear, sun-bright atmosphere, that hour I resolved to take my 
lot with freedom and the right against slavery and the wrong ! ” 
“ How was your conversion effected ? ” asked Onslow. “ Did 
you fall in love with some Yankee schoolmistress ? I was n’t 
aware you ’d been living at the North.” 

“ I ’ve never set foot in a Free State,” replied Kenrick. “ My 
life has been passed here in Louisiana on my father’s planta- 
tion. I was bred a slaveholder, and lived one after the most 
straitest sect of our religion until about six months ago. See 
at the trunkmaker’s my learned papers in De Bow’s Review. 
They ’re entitled 1 Slave Labor versus Free.’ Unfortunately for 
my admirers and disciples, there was in my father’s library a 
10 


218 


TECULIAR. 


little stray volume of Charming’s writings on slavery. I read 
it at first contemptuously, then attentively, then respectfully, 
and at last lovingly and prayerfully. The truth, almost insuf- 
ferably radiant, poured in upon me. Convictions were heaved 
up in my mind like volcanic islands out of the sea. I was 
spiritually magnetized and possessed.” 

“What said your father?” 

“ My father and I had always lived more as companions than 
as sire and son. There is only a difference of twenty-two 
years in our ages. My own mother, a very beautiful woman 
who died when I was five years old, was six years older than 
my father. From her I derived my intellectual peculiarities. 
Of course my father has cast me off, — disowned, disinherited 
me. He is sincere in his pro-slavery fanaticism. I wish I could 
say as much of all who fall in with the popular current.” 

“ But what do you mean to do, Charles ? ’T is unsafe for 
you to stay here in New Orleans, holding such sentiments.” 

“ My plans are not yet matured,” replied Kenrick. “ I shall 
stand by the old flag, you may be sure of that. ■ And I shall 
liberate all the slaves I can, beginning with my father’s.” 

“ You would not fight against your own State ? u 

“ Incontinently I would if my own State should persist in 
rebellion against the Union ; and so I would fight against my 
own county should that rebel against the State.” 

“ Well, schoolfellow,” said Onslow, with a fascinating frank- 
ness, “ let us reserve our quarrels for the time when we shall 
cross swords in earnest. That time may come sooner than we 
dream of. The less can we afford to say bitter things to each 
other now. Come, and let me introduce you to a charming 
young lady. How long do you stay here?” 

“ Perhaps a week ; perhaps a month.” 

“ I shall watch over you while you remain, for I do not 
fancy seeing my old crony hung.” 

“Better so than be false to the light within me. Though 
worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.” 

Onslow made no reply, but affectionately, almost compas- 
sionately, took Kenrick by the arm and led him away. 

Vance put down his newspaper, and then, immersed in med- 
itation, slowly passed out of the dining-hall and up-stairs into 
his own room. 


A MONSTER OF INGRATITUDE. 


219 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A MONSTER OF INGRATITUDE. 


“Faint hearts are usually false hearts, choosing sin rather than suffering.” — Argyle, 
before his execution. 

Tl/TRS. GEXTRY had attired herself in her new spring 
IT I costume, a feuillemorte silk, with a bonnet trimmed to 
match, of the frightful coal-hod shape, with sable roses and a 
bristling ruche. It was just such a bonnet as Proserpine, 
Queen of the Shades, might have chosen for a stroll with Pluto 
along the shore of Lake Avemus. 

After many satisfactory glances in the mirror, Mrs. Gentry 
sat down and trotted her right foot impatiently. Tarquin, en- 
tering, announced the carriage. 

“ Well, go to Miss Ellen, and ask when she ’ll be ready.” 

Five minutes Mrs. Gentry waited, while the horses, pestered 
by stinging insects, dashed their hoofs against the pavements. 
At last Tarquin returned with the report that Miss Ellen’s 
room was empty. 

“ Has Pauline looked for her ? ” 

“ Yes, missis.” 

“ Ask Esha if she has seen her.” 

Pauline, standing at the head of the stairs, put the ques- 
tion, and Esha replied testily from the kitchen : “ Don’t know 
nuffin ’bout her. Hab suffin better ter do dan look af’r all de 
school-gals in dis house.” 

Pauline turned from the old heathen in despair, and sug- 
gested that perhaps Miss Ellen had stepped out to buy a ribbon 
or some hair-pins. 

Mrs. Gentry waxed angry. “ O, but she ’ll be come up 
with ! ” This was the teacher’s favorite form of consolation. 
The Abolitionists would be come up with. Abe Lincoln would 
be come up with. General Scott would be come up with. 
Everybody who offended Mrs. Gentry would be come up with, 
— if not in this world, why then in some other. 


220 


PECULIAR. 


An hour passed. She began to get seriously alarmed. She 
sent away the carriage. Hardly had it gone, when a second 
vehicle drew up before the door, and out of it stepped Mr. 
Ratcliff. She met him in the parlor, and, fearing to tell the 
truth, merely remarked, that Ellen was out making a few pur- 
chases. 

“ When will she be back ? ” 

“ Perhaps not till dinner-time.” 

“ Then I ’ll call to-morrow at this hour.” 

Mrs. Gentry passed the day in a state of wretched anxiety. 
She sent out messengers. She interested a policeman in the 
search. But no trace of the fugitive ! Mrs. Gentry was in 
despair. If Ellen had not been a slave, her disappearance 
would have been comparatively a small matter. If it had been 
somebody’s free-born daughter who had absconded, it would n’t 
have been half so bad. But here was a slave ! One whose 
flight would lay open to suspicion the teacher’s allegiance to the 
institution ! Intolerable ! Of course it was no concern of hers 
to what fate that slave was about to be consigned. 

Ah ! sister of the South, — (and I have known many, the 
charms of whose persons and manners I thought incomparable,) 
— a woman whose own virtue is not rooted in sand, cannot, if 
she thinks and reasons, fail to shudder at a system which sends 
other women, perhaps as innocent and pure as she herself, to 
be sold to brutal men at auctions. And yet, if any one had 
told Mrs. Gentry she was no better than a procuress, both she 
and the Rev. Dr. Palmer would have thought it an impious 
aspersion. 

At the appointed hour Ratcliff appeared. Mrs. Gentry’s 
toilet that day was appropriate to the calamitous occasion. She 
was dressed in a black silk robe intensely flounced, and deco- 
rated around the bust with a profluvium of black lace that might 
have melted the heart of a Border-ruffian. She entered the 
parlor, tragically shaking out a pocket handkerchief with” an 
edging of black. 

“ 0 Mr. Ratcliff ! Mr. Ratcliff ! ” she exclaimed, rushing for- 
ward, then checking herself melodramatically, and seizing the 
back of a chair, as if for support. 

“ Well, madam, what’s the matter ? ” 


A MONSTER OF INGRATITUDE. 


221 


ix That heartless, — that ungrateful girl ! ” 
u What of her ? ” 

Mrs. Gentry answered by applying her handkerchief to her 
eyes very much as Mrs. Siddons used to do in Belvidera. 

“ Come, madam,” interrupted Ratcliff, “ my time is precious. 
No damned nonsense, if you please. To the point. What has 
happened ? ” 

Rudely shocked into directness by these words, Mrs. Gentry 
replied : “ She has disappeared, — r-r-run away ! ” 

“ Damnation ! ” was Ratcliff’s concise and emphatic com- 
ment. He started up and paced the room. “ This is a 
damned pretty return for my confidence, madam.” 

“ O, she ’ll be come up with, — she ’ll be come up with ! ” 
sobbed Mrs. Gentry. 

“ Come up with, — where ? ” 

“ In the next world, if not in this.” 

“ Pooh ! When did she disappear ? ” 

“ Yesterday, while I was waiting for her to go out to buy 
her new dresses. O the ingratitude ! ” 

“ Have you made no search for her ? ” 

“ Yes, I ’ve made every possible inquiry. I ’ve paid ten 
dollars to a police-officer to look her up. O the ingratitude of 
the world ! But she ’ll be come up with ! ” 

“ Did you let her know that I was her master ? ” 

“ Yes, ’t was only yesterday I imparted the information.” 

“ How did she receive it ? ” 

“ She was a little startled at first, but soon seemed recon- 
ciled, even pleased with the idea of her new wardrobe.” 

“ Have you closely questioned your domestics ? ” 

“ Yes. They know nothing. She must have slipped unob- 
served out of the house.” 

“Is there any one among them with whom she was more 
familiar than with another ? ” 

“ She used to read the Bible to old Esha, by my direction.” 

“ Call up old Esha. I would like to question her.” 

Esha soon appeared, her bronzed face glistening with per- 
spiration from the kitchen fire, — the never-failing bright- 
colored Madras handkerchief on her head. 

“ Esha,” said Mr. Ratcliff, “ have you ever seen me before ? ” 


222 


PECULIAR. 


“ Yes, Massa Ratcliff, of’n. Lib’d on de nex’ plantation to 
yourn. I ’longed to Massa Peters wunst. But he’m dead 
and gone.” 

“ Do you know what an oath is, Esha ? ” 

“ Yes, massa, it ’s when one swar he know dis or dunno dat.” 
“ Very well. Do you know what becomes of her who swears 
falsely ? ” 

“ 0 yes, massa ; she go to de lake of brimstone and fire, 
whar’ she hab bad time for eber and eber, Amen.” 

“ Are you a Christian, Esha ? ” 

“ I ’ze notin’ else, Massa Ratcliff.” 

“ Well, Esha, here ’s the Holy Bible. Take it in your left 
hand, kiss the book, and then hold up your right hand.” 

Esha went through the required form. 

“ You do solemnly swear, as you hope to be saved from the 
torments of hell through all eternity, that you will truly an- 
swer, to the best of your knowledge and belief, the questions I 
may put to you. And if you lie, may the Lord strike you 
dead. Now kiss the book again, to show you take the oath.’* 
Esha kissed the book, and returned it to the table. 

“ Now, then, do you know anything of the disappearance of 
this girl, Ellen Murray ? ” 

“ Nuffin, massa, nuffin at all.” 

“ Did she ever tell you she meant to leave this house ? ” 

“ Nebber, massa ! She nebber tell me any sich ting.” 

“ Did she have any talk with you yesterday ? ” 

“ Not a bressed word did dat chile say to me ’cep ter scole 
me ’cause I did n’t do up her Organdy muslin nice as she 
’spected. De little hateful she-debble ! How can dis ole nig 
do eb’ry ting all at wunst, and do ’t well, should like ter know ? 
It ’s cook an’ wash an’ iron, an’ iron an’ wash an’ — ” 

“ There ! That will do, Esha. You can go.” 

“ Yes, Massa Ratcliff.” 

Stealing into the next room, Esha listened at the folding- 
doors. 

“ She knows nothing, — that ’s very clear,” said Ratcliff. 
He went to the window, and looked out in silence a full minute ; 
then, coming back, added : “ Stop snivelling, madam. I ’m not 
a fool. I’ve seen women before now. This girl must be 


A MONSTER OF INGRATITUDE. 


223 


found, — found if it costs me ten thousand dollars. And you 
must aid in the search. If I find her, — well and good. If I 
don’t find her, you shall suffer for it. This is what I mean to 
do : I shall have copies of her photograph put in the hands of 
the best detectives in the city. I shall pay them well in ad- 
vance, and promise five hundred dollars to the one that finds 
her. They ’ll come to you. You must give them all the infor- 
mation you can, and lend them your servants to identify the 
girl. This old Esha plainly has a grudge against her, and may 
be made useful in hunting her up. Let her go out daily for 
that purpose. Tell all your pupils to be on the watch. I ’ll 
break up your schopl if she is n’t found. Do you understand ? ” 

“ I ’ll do all I can, sir, to have her caught.” 

“ That will be your most prudent course, madam.” 

And Ratcliff, with more exasperation in his face than his 
words had expressed, quitted the house. 

“ The brute ! ” muttered Mrs. Gentry, as through the blinds 
she saw him enter his barouche, and drive off. “ He treated 
me as if I ’d been a drab. But he ’ll be come up with, — he 
will ! ” 

Esha crept down into the kitchen, with thoughts intent on 
what she had heard. 


224 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE YOUNG LADY WITH A CARPET-BAG. 

“ Pain has its own noble joy when it kindles a consciousness of life, before stagnant and 
torpid.” — John Sterling. 

C HILDREN are quick to detect flaws in the genealogy of 
their associates. School-girls are quite as exclusive in 
their notions as our grown-up leaders of sbciety. Woe to the 
candidate for companionship on whose domestic record there 
hangs a doubt! 

Mrs. Gentry having felt it her duty to inform her pupils that 
Clara was not a lady, the latter was thenceforth “ left out in the 
cold ” by the little Brahmins of the seminary. She would sit, 
like a criminal, apart from the rest, or in play-hours seek the 
company, either of Esha or the mocking-bird. 

One circumstance puzzled the other young ladies. They 
could not understand why, in the more showy accomplishments 
of music, singing, and dancing, more expense should be bestowed 
on Clara’s education than on theirs. The elegance and variety 
of her toilet excited at once their envy and their curiosity. 

Clara, finding that she was held back from serious studies, 
gave her thoughts to them all the more resolutely, and excelled 
in them so far as to shock the conservative notions of Mrs. 
Gentry, who thought such acquisitions presumptuous in a slave. 
The pupils all tossed their little heads, and turned their backs, 
when Clara drew near. All but one. Laura Tremaine prized 
v Clara’s counsels on questions of dress, and defied the jeers and 
frowns that would deter her from cultivating the acquaintance 
of one suspected of ignoble birth. Something almost like a 
friendship grew up between the two. Laura was the only 
daughter of a wealthy cotton-broker who resided the greater 
part of the year in New Orleans, at the St. Charles Hotel. 

The two girls used to stroll through the garden with arms 
about each other’s waist. One day Clara, in a gush of candor, 


THE YOUNG LADY WITH A CARPET-BAG. 


225 


not only avowed herself an Abolitionist, but tried to convert 
Laura to the heresy. Quelle horreur ! There was at once a 
cessation of the intimacy, — Laura exacting a recantation 
which the little infidel proudly refused. 

• The disagreement had occurred only a few days before that 
flight of Clara’s in which we must now follow her. After part- 
ing from Esha, she walked for some distance, ignorant why she 
selected one direction rather than another, and having no 
clearly defined purpose as to her destination. She had prome- 
naded thus about an hour, when she saw a barouche approach- 
ing. The occupant, a man, sat leaning lazily back with his feet 
up on the opposite cushions. A black driver and footman, both 
in livery, filled the lofty front seat. As the vehicle rolled on, 
Clara recognized Ratcliff. She shuddered and dropped her veil. 

Fortunately he was half asleep, and did not see her. 

Whither now ? Of two streets she chose the more obscure. 
On she walked, and the carpet-bag began to be an encumbrance. 
The heat was oppressive. Occasionally a passer-by among the 
young men would say to an acquaintance, “ Did you notice that 
figure?” One man offered to carry the bag. She declined 
his aid. On and on she walked. Whither and why ? She 
could not explain. All at once it occurred to her she was 
wasting her strength in an objectless promenade. 

Her utterly forlorn condition revealed itself in all its deso- 
lateness and danger. She stopped under the shade of a mag- 
nolia-tree, and, leaning against the trunk, put back her veil, and 
wiped the moisture from her face. She had been walking more 
than two hours, and was overheated and fatigued. What 
should she do ? The tears began to flow at the thought that 
the question was one for which she had no reply. 

Suddenly she looked round with the vague sense that some 
one was watching her. She encountered the gaze of a gentle- 
man who, with an air of mingled curiosity and compassion, 
stood observing her grief. He wore a loose frock of buff 
nankin, with white vest and pantaloons ; and on his head was 
a hat of very fine Panama straw. Whether he was young or 
old Clara did not remark. She only knew that a face beautiful 
from its compassion beamed on her, and that it was the face of 
a gentleman. 


10 * 


o 


226 


PECULIAR. 


“ Can I assist you ? ” he asked. 

“ No, thank you,” replied Clara. “ I ’m fatigued, — that ’s 
all, — and am resting here a few minutes.” 

“ Here ’s a little house that belongs to me,” said the gentle- 
man, pointing to a neat though small wooden tenement before 
which they were standing. “ I do not live here, but the family 
who do will be pleased to receive you for my sake. You shall 
have a room all to yourself, and rest there till you are refreshed. 
Do you distrust me, my child ? ” 

There are faces out of which Truth looks so unequivocally, 
that to distrust them seems like a profanation. Clara did not 
distrust, and yet she hesitated, and replied through her tears, 
“ No, I do not distrust you, but I ’ve no claim on your kindness.” • 

“ Ah ! but you have a claim,” said Vance (for it was he) ; 
“ you are unhappy, and the unhappy are my brothers and my 
sisters. I’ve been unhappy myself. I knew one years ago, 
young like you, and like you unhappy, and through her also 
you have a claim. There ! Let me relieve you of that bag. 
Now take my arm. Good ! This way.” Clara’s tears gushed 
forth anew at these words, and yet less at the words than at 
the tone in which they were uttered. So musical and yet so 
melancholy was that tone. 

He knocked at the door. It was opened by Madame Ber- 
nard, a spruce little Frenchwoman, who had married a jour- 
neyman printer, and who felt unbounded gratitude to Vance for 
his gift of the rent of the little house. 

“Is it you, Mr. Vance? We’ve been wondering why you 
did n’t come.” 

“ Madame Bernard, this young lady is fatigued. I wish her 
to rest in my room.” 

“ The room of Monsieur is always in order. Follow me, my 
dear.” 

And, taking the carpet-bag, Madame conducted her to the 
little chamber, then asked : “ Now what will you have, my dear? 
A little claret and water ? Some fruit or cake ? ” 

“ Nothing, thank you. I ’ll rest on the sofa awhile. You ’re 
very kind. The gentleman’s name is Vance, is it?” 

“ Yes ; is he not an acquaintance ?” 

“ I never saw him till three minutes ago. He noticed me 


THE YOUNG LADY WITH A CAKPET-BAG. 


227 


resting, and, I fear, weeping in the street, and he asked me in 
here to rest.” 

“ ’T was just like him. He’s so good, so generous! He 
gives me the rent of this house with the pretty garden at- 
tached. You can see it from the window. Look at the grapes. 
He reserves for himself this room, which I daily dust and keep 
in order. Poor man ! ’T was here he passed the few months 
of his marriage, years ago. His wife died, and he bought the 
house, and has kept it in repair ever since. This used to be 
their sleeping-room. ’Twas also their parlor, for they were 
poor. There ’s their little case of books. Here ’s the piano 
on which they used to play duets. ’T was a hired piano, and 
was returned to the owner ; but Mr. Vance found it in an old 
warehouse, not long ago, had it put in order, and brought here. 
’T is one of Chickering’s best ; a superb instrument. You 
should hear Mr. Vance play on it.” 

“ Does he play well ? ” asked Clara, who had almost forgotten 
her own troubles in listening to the little woman’s gossip. 

“ Ah ! you never heard such playing ! I know something 
of music. My family is musical. I flatter myself I’m a 
judge. I’ve heard Thalberg, Vieuxtemps, Jael, Gottschalk; 
and Mr. Vance plays better than any of them.” 

“Is he a professor?” 

“No, merely an amateur. But he puts a soul into the 
notes. Do you play at all, my dear?” 

“ Yes, I began to learn so early that I cannot recollect the 
time when.” 

“ I thought you must be musical. Just try this instrument, 
my dear, that is, if you ’re not too tired.” 

“ Certainly, if ’t will oblige you.” 

Seating herself at the piano, Clara played, from Donizetti’s 
Lucia , Edgardo’s melodious wail of abandonment and despair, 
“ A’ universo intero e un deserto per me sensa Lucia. ,} 

Mrs. Bernard had opened the door that Vance might hear. 
At the conclusion he knocked and entered. “ Is this the way 
you rest yourself, young pilgrim ? ” he asked. “ You ’re a pro- 
ficient, I see. You’ve been made to practise four hours a 
day.” 

“ Yes, ever since I can remember.” 


228 


PECULIAR. 


“ So I should think. Now let me hear something in a dif- 
ferent vein.” 

Clara, while the blood mounted to her forehead, and her 
whole frame dilated, struck into the “ Star-spangled Banner,” 
playing it with her whole soul, and at the close singing the 
refrain, 

“ And the Star-spangled Banner in triumph shall -wave 
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.” 

“ But that ’s treason ! ” cried Mrs. Bernard. 

“ Yes, Mrs. Bernard,” said Yance, “ run at once to the police- 
station. Tell them to send a file of soldiers. We must have 
her arrested.” 

“ 0 no, no ! ” exclaimed Clara, deceived by Vance’s grave 
acting. Then, seeing her mistake, she laughed, and said : 
“ That ’s too bad. I thought for a moment you were in 
earnest.” 

“ We will spare you this time,” said Yance, with a smile 
that made his whole face luminous ; “ but should outsiders in 
the street hear you, they may not be so forbearing. They will 
tear our little house down if you ’re not careful.” 

“ I ’ll not be so imprudent again,” returned Clara. “ Will 
you play for me, sir ? ” And she resumed her seat on the sofa. 

Yance played some extemporized variations on the Carnival 
of Venice; and Clara, who had regarded Mrs. Bernard’s 
praises as extravagant, now concluded they were the literal 
truth. “ Oh ! ” she exclaimed, naively, “ I never heard playing 
like that. Do not ask me to play before you again, sir.” 

Mrs. Bernard left to attend to the affairs of the cuisine. 

“Now, mademoiselle,” said Yance, “what can I do before 
I go?” 

“ All I want,” replied Clara, “ is time to arrange some plan. 
I left home so suddenly I ’m quite at a loss.” 

“ Do I understand you ’ve left your parents ? ” 

“ I have no parents, sir.” 

“ Then a near relation, or a guardian ? ” 

“ Neither, sir. I am independent of all ties.” 

“ Have you no friend to whom you -can go for advice ? ” 

“ I had a friend, but she gave me up because I ’in an Abo- 
litionist” 


THE YOUNG LADY WITH A CARPET-BAG. 


229 


u My poor little lady ! An Abolitionist ? You ? In times 
like these ? When Sumter has fallen, too ? No wonder your 
friend has cast you off. Who is she ? ” 

“ Miss Laura Tremaine. She lives at the St. Charles. Do 
you know her, sir ? ” 

“ Slightly. I met her in the drawing-room not long since. 
She does not appear unamiable. But why are you an Abo- 
litionist ? ” 

“ Because I believe in God.” 

Vance felt that this was the summing-up of the whole mat- 
ter. He looked with new interest on the “little lady.” In 
height she was someAvhat shorter than Estelle, — not much over 
five feet two and a half. Not from her features, but from the 
maturity of their expression, he judged she might have reached 
her eighteenth year. Somewhat more of a brunette than 
Estelle, and with fine abundant hair of a light brown. Eyes 

— he could not quite see their color; but they were vivid, 
penetrating, earnest. Features regular, and a profile even 
more striking in its beauty than her front face. A figure 
straight and slim, but exquisitely rounded, and every move- 
ment revealing some new grace. Where had he seen a face 
like it? 

After a few moments of contemplation, he said : , “ Do not 
think me impertinently curious. You have been well educated. 
You have not had to labor for a living. Are the persons to whom 
you ’ve been indebted for support no longer your friends ? ” 

“ They are my worst enemies, and all that has been bestowed 
on me has been from hateful motives and calculations.” — 
“Now I ’m going to ask a very delicate question. Are you 
provided with money ? ” — “ O yes, sir, amply.” — “ How 
much have you ? ” — “ Twenty dollars.” — “ Indeed ! Are 
you so rich as that ? What ’s your name ? ” — “ The name 
I ’ve been brought up under is Ellen Murray ; but I hate it.” 

— “ Why so ? ” — “ Because of a dream.” — “A dream ! And 
what was it ? ” — “ Shall I relate it ? ” — “ By all means.” 

“ I dreamed that a beautiful lady led me by the hand into a 
spacious garden. On one side were fruits, and on the other 
side flowers, and in the middle a circle of brilliant verbenas 
from the centre of which rose a tall fountain, fed from a high 
hill in the neighborhood. And the lady said, ‘ This is your 


230 


PECULIAR. 


garden, and jour name is not Ellen Murray.’ Then she gave 
me a letter sealed with blue — no, gray — wax, and said, ‘ Put 
this letter on your eyes, and you shall find it there when you 
■wake. Some one will open it, and your name will be seen 
written there, though you may not understand it at first.’ 1 But 
am I not awake ? ’ I asked. ‘ 0 no,’ said the lady. ‘ This is 
all a dream. But we can sometimes impress those we love in 
this way.’ ‘ And who are you ? ’ I asked. ‘ That you will 
know when you interpret the letter,’ she said.” 

“ And what resulted from the dream ? ” — “ The moment I 
waked I put my hand on my eyes. Of course I found no let- 
ter. The next night the lady came again, and said, ‘ The seal 
cannot be broken by yourself. Your name is not Ellen Mur- 
ray, — remember that.’ A third night this dream beset me, 
and so forcibly that I resolved to get rid of the name as far as 
I could. And so I made my friends call me Darling.” 

“ Well, Darling, as you — ” — “ 0, but, sir ! you must not 
call me Darling. That would never do ! ” — “ What can I call 
you, then?” — “Call me Miss, or Mademoiselle.” — “Well, 
Miss.” — “ No, I do not like the sibilation.” — “ Will Ma'am 
do any better ? ” — “ Not till I ’m more venerable. Call me 
Perdita.” — “ Perdita what ? ” — “ Perdita Brown, — yes, I 
love the name of Brown.” 

“ Well, Perdita, as you’ve not quite made up your mind to 
seek the protection of Miss Tremaine, my advice is that you 
remain here till to-morrow. Here is a little case filled with 
books ; and on the shelf of the closet is plenty of old music, — 
works of Handel, Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Schubert, 
and some of the Italian masters. Do you play Schubert’s 
Sacred Song?” — “I never heard it.” — “ Learn it, then, by all 
means. ’T is in that book. Shall I tell Mrs. Bernard you ’ll 
pass the night here ? ” — “ Do, sir. I ’m very grateful for your 
kindness.” — “ Good by, Perdita ! Should anything detain me 
to-morrow, wait till I come. Keep up your four hours’ prac- 
tice. Madame Bernard is amiable, but a little talkative. I 
shall tell her to allow you five hours for your studies. Adieu, 
Perdita ! ” 

He held out his hand, and Clara gave hers, and cast down 
her eyes. “ You ’ve told me a true story ? ” said he. “ Yes ! 
I will trust you.” 


THE YOUNG LADY WITH A CARPET-BAG. 


231 


“ Indeed, sir, I ’ve told you nothing but the truth.” 

Yes. She had told the truth, but unhappily not the whole 
truth. And yet how she longed to kneel at his feet and- con- 
fess all ! Various motives withheld her. She was not quite 
sure how he had received her antislavery confessions. He 
might be a friend of Mr. Ratcliff. There was dismay in the 
very possibility. And finally a certain pride or prudence 
restrained her from throwing herself on the protection of a 
stranger not of her own sex. 

And so the golden opportunity was allowed to escape ! 

Vance lingered for a moment holding her hand, as if to 
invite her to a further confidence ; but she said nothing, and 
he left the room. Clara opened the music-book at Schubert’s 
piece, and commenced playing. Vance stopped on the stairs 
and listened, keeping time approvingly. “ Good ! ” he said. 
Then telling the little landlady not to interrupt Miss Brown’s 
studies, he quitted the house, walking in the direction of the 
hotel. 

Clara practised till she could play from memory the charm- 
ing composition commended by Vance. Then she threw 
herself on the bed and fell asleep. She had not remained 
thus an hour when there was a knock. Dinner ! Mr. 
Bernard had come in ; a dapper little man, so remarkably well 
satisfied with himself, his wife, and his bill of fare, that he 
repeatedly had to lay down knife and fork and rub his hands 
in glee. 

“ Are you related to Mr. Vance ? ” he asked Clara. 

“ Not at all. He saw me in the street, weary and distressed. 
The truth is, I had left my home for a good reason. I have 
no parents, you must consider. He asked me in here. From 
his looks I judged he was a man to trust. I gladly accepted 
his invitation.” 

“ Truly he ’s a friend in need, Mademoiselle. I saw him do 
another kind thing to-day.” 

“ What was it ? ” 

“It happened only an hour ago in Carondelet Street. A 
ragged fellow was haranguing a crowd. He spoke on the 
wrong side, — in short, in favor of the old flag. Some laughed, 
some hissed, some applauded. Suddenly a party of men, 
armed with swords and muskets, pushed through the crowd. 


232 


PECULIAR. 


and seized the speaker. They formed a court, Judge Lynch 
presiding, under a palmetto. They decided that the vagabond 
should be hung. He had already been badly pricked in the 
flank with a bayonet. And now a table was brought out, he 
was placed on it, and a rope put round his neck and tied to a 
bough. Decidedly they were going to string him up.” 

“ Good heavens ! ” cried Clara, who, as the story proceeded, 
had turned pale and thrust away the plate of food from before 
her. “ Did you make no effort to save him ? ” 

“ What could I do ? They would merely have got another 
rope, and made me keep him company. Well, the mob were 
expecting an entertainment. They were about to knock away 
the table, when Monsieur Vance pushed through the crowd, 
hauled off the hangman, and, jumping on the table, cut the 
rope, and lifted the prisoner faint and bleeding to the ground. 
What a yell from Judge Lynch and the court! Monsieur 
Vance, his coat and vest all bloody from contact with — ” 

“ What a shame ! ” interposed Mrs. Bernard. “ A coat and 
vest he must have put on clean this morning! So nicely 
ironed and starched ! ” 

“ But my story agitates you, Mademoiselle,” said the type- 
setter. “You look pale.” And the little man, not regarding 
the inappropriateness of the act, rubbed his hands. 

“ Go on,” replied Clara ; and she sipped from a tumbler of 
cold water. 

“ There ’s little more to say, Mademoiselle. Messieurs, the 
bullies, drew their swords on Monsieur Vance. He showed a 
revolver, and they fell back. Then he talked to them till they 
cooled down, gave him three cheers, and went off. I and old 
Mr. Winslow helped him to find a carriage. We put the 
wounded man into it. He was driven to the hospital, and his 
wound attended to. ’Tis serious, I believe.” 

And Bernard again rubbed his hands. 

“And was that the last you saw of Mr. Vance?” asked Clara. 

“The last. Shall I help you to some pine-apple, Made- 
moiselle ? ” 

“ No, thank you. I ’ve finished my dinner. You will ex- 
cuse me.” 

And she returned to the little room assigned to her use. 


WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR? 


233 


CHAPTER XXIII 


WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR? 


“ Sing again the song you sung 
When we were together young } 
When there were but you and I 
Underneath the summer sky. 
Sing the song, and o’er and o’er, 
Though I know that nevermore 
Will it seem the song you sung 
When we were together young.” 


George William Curtis. 


ANCE passed on through the streets, wondering what 



could be the mystery which had driven his new acquaint- 


ance forth into the wide world without a protector. Should he 
speak of her to Miss Tremaine ? Perhaps. But not unless he 
could do it without betrayal of confidence. 

There was something in Perdita that reminded him of Es- 
telle. Had a pressure of similar circumstances wrought the 
peculiarity which awakened the association? Yet he missed 
in Perdita that diaphanous simplicity, that uncalculating candor, 
which seemed to lead Estelle to unveil her whole nature before 
him. But Perdita had not wholly failed in frankness. Had 
she not glorified the old flag in her music ? And had she not 
been outspoken on the one forbidden theme ? 

As these thoughts flitted through his mind, excluding for the 
moment those graver interests, involving a people’s doom, he 
heard the shouts of a crowd, and saw a man, pale and bloody, 
standing on a table under a tree, from a branch of which a 
rope was dangling. Yance comprehended the meaning of it 
all in an instant. He darted toward the spot, gliding swift, 
agile, and flexuous through the compacted crowd. Yes ! The 
victim was the same man to whom he had given the gold-piece, 
some days before. Yance put a summary stop to Judge 
Lynch’s proceedings, breaking up the court precisely as Ber- 
nard had related. The wounded man was conveyed to the 


234 


PECULIAR. 


hospital. Here Vance saw his wound dressed, hired an extra 
attendant to nurse him, and then, in tones of warmest sympathy, 
asked the sufferer what more he could do for him. 

The man opened his eyes. A swarthy, filthy, uncombed, 
unshaven wretch. He had been so blinded by blood that he 
had not recognized Vance. But now, seeing him, he started, 
and strove to raise himself on his elbow. 

Vance and the surgeon prevented the movement. The 
patient stared, and said: “You’ve done it agin, have yer? 
What ’s yer name ? ” 

“This is Mr. Vance,” replied the surgeon. 

“ Vance ! Vance ! ” said the patient, as if trying to force his 
memory to some particular point. Then he added : “ Can’t do 
it ! And yit I ’ve seen him afore somewhar.” 

“ Well, my poor fellow, I must leave you. Good by.” 

“ Why, this hand is small and white as a woman’s ! ” said the 
patient, touching Vance’s fingers carefully as he might have 
touched some fragile flower. “ Yer ’ll come agin to see me, — 
woan’t yer ? ” 

“ Yes, I ’ll not forget it.” — “ Call to-morrow, will yer ? ” — 
“ Yes, if I ’m alive I ’ll call.” — “ Thahnk yer, strannger. 
Good by.” 

Giving a few dollars to the surgeon for the patient’s benefit, 
Vance quitted the hospital. An hour afterwards, in his room 
at the St. Charles, he penned and sent this note : — 

“To Perdita: I shall not be able to see you again to- 
day. Content yourself as well as you can in the company of 
Mozart and Beethoven, Bellini and Donizetti, Irving and Dick- 
ens, Tennyson and Longfellow. The company is not large, but 
you will find it select. Unless some very serious engagement 
should prevent, I will see you to-morrow. Vance.” 

This little note was read and re-read by Clara, till the dark- 
ness of night came on. She studied the forms of the letters, 
the curves and flourishes, all the peculiarities of the chirography, 
as if she could derive from them some new hints for her incip- 
ient hero-worship. Then, lighting the gas, she acted on the 
advice of the letter, by devoting herself to the performance of 
Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. 

Vance meanwhile, after a frugal dinner, eliminated from 


WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR? 


235 


luxurious viands, rang the bell, and sent his card to Miss Tre- 
maine. Laura’s mother was an invalid, and Laura herself, 
relieved from maternal restraint, had been lately in the habit 
of receiving and entertaining company, much to her own satis- 
faction, as she now had an enlarged field for indulging a pro- 
pensity not uncommon among young women who have been 
much admired and much indulged. . 

Laura was a predestined flirt. Had she been brought up 
between the walls of a nunnery, where the profane presence of 
a man had never been known, she would instinctively have 
launched into coquetry the first time the bishop or the gardener 
made his appearance. 

Having heard Madame Brugiere, the fashionable widow, 
speak of Mr. Yance as the handsomest man in New Orleans, 
Laura was possessed with the desire of bringing him into her 
circle of admirers. So, one day after dinner, she begged her 
father to stroll with her through a certain corridor of the hotel. 
She calculated that Yance would pass there on his way to his 
room. She was right. “ Is that Mr. Yance, papa ? ” — “ Yes, 
my dear.” — “ O, do introduce him. They say he ’s such a 
superb musician. We must have him to try our new piano.” 
— “I’m but slightly acquainted with him.” — “No matter. 
He goes into the best society, you know.” (The father did n’t 
know it, — neither did the daughter, — but he took it for 
granted she spoke by authority.) “ He ’s very rich, too,” added 
Laura. This was enough to satisfy the paternal conscience. 
“ Good evening, Mr. Yance ! Lively times these ! Let me 
make you acquainted with my daughter, Miss Laura. We 
shall be happy to see you in our parlor, Mr. Yance.” Yance 
bowed, and complimented the lady on a tea-rose she held in 
her hand. “ Did you ever see anything more beautiful ? ” 
she asked. — “ Never till now,” he replied. — “ Ah ! The 
rose is yours. You ’ve fairly won it, Mr. Yance ; but there ’s 
a condition attached : you must promise to call and try my 
new piano.” — “ Agreed. I ’ll call at an early day.” He bowed, 
and passed on. “ A very charming person,” said Laura. — “ Yes, 
a gentleman evidently,” said the father. — “ And he is n’t redo- 
lent of cigar-smoke and whiskey, as nine tenths of you ill- 
smelling men are,” added Laura. — “ Tut ! Don’t abuse your 


236 


PECULIAR. 


future husband, my dear.” — “ How old should you take Mr. 
Vance to be ? ” — “ About thirty-five.” — “ O no ! Not a year 
over thirty.” — “ He ’s too old to be caught by any chaff of 
yours, my dear ! ” — w Now, papa ! I ’ll not walk with you 
another minute ! ” 

A few evenings afterwards, as Laura sat lonely in her pri- 
vate parlor, a waiter put into her hand a card on which was 
simply written in pencil, “Mr. Vance.” She did not try 
to check the start of exultation with which she said, “ Show 
him in.” 

Laura was now verging on her eighteenth year. A little 
above the Medicean height, her well-rounded shoulders and 
bust prefigured for her womanhood a voluptuous fulness. Nine 
men out of ten would have pronounced her beautiful. Had 
she been put up at a slave-vendue, the auctioneer, if a connois- 
seur, would have expatiated thus : “ Let me call your atten- 
tion, gentlemen, to this very superior article. Faultless, you 
see, every way. In limb and action perfect. Too showy, per- 
haps, for a field-hand, but excellent for the parlor. Look at 
that profile. The Grecian type in its perfection ! Nose a little 
retrousse , but what piquancy in the expression ! Hair dark, 
glossy, abundant. Cheeks, — do you notice that little dimple 
when she smiles ? Teeth sound and white : open the mouth of 
the article and look, gentlemen. Just feel of those arms, gen- 
tlemen. Complexion smooth, brilliant, perfect. Did you ever 
see a head and neck more neatly set on the shoulders ? — and 
such shoulders ! What are you prepared to bid, gentlemen, for 
this very, very superior article ? ” 

Laura was attired in a light checked foulard silk, trimmed 
with cherry-colored ribbons. Running to the mirror, she ad- 
justed here and there a curl, and lowered the gauze over her 
shoulders. Then, resuming her seat, she took Tennyson’s 
“ In Memoriam ” from the table, and became intensely absorbed 
in the perusal. 

As Vance entered, Laura said to herself, “ I know I ’m right 
as to liis age ! ” Nor was her estimate surprising. During the 
last two lustrums of his nomadic life, he had rather reinvigor- 
ated than impaired his physical frame. He never counteracted 
the hygienic benefits of his Arab habits by vices of eating and 


WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR? 237 

drinking. Abjuring all liquids but water, sleeping often on the 
bare ground under the open sky, he so hardened and purified 
his constitution that those constantly recurring local inflamma- 
tions which, under the name of “ colds ” of some sort, beset men 
in their ordinary lives in cities, were to him almost unknown. 
And so he was what the Creoles called bien conserve. 

Laura, with a pretty affectation of surprise, threw down her 
book, and, with extended hand, rose to greet her visitor. To him 
the art he had first studied on the stage had become a second 
nature. Every movement was proportioned, graceful, harmo- 
nious. He fell into no inelegant posture. He did not sit 
down in a chair without naturally falling into the attitude that 
an artist would have thought right. That consummate ease 
and grace which play-goers used to admire in James Wallack 
were remarkable in Vance, whether in motion or in repose. 

Taking Laura’s proffered hand, he led her to the sofa, where 
they sat down. After some commonplaces in regard to the 
news of the day, he remarked : “ By the way, do you know of 
any good school in the city for a young girl, say of fourteen ? ” 

“ Yes. Mrs. Gentry’s school, which I’ve just left, is one of 
the most select in the city. Here ’s her card.” — “ But are her 
pupils all from the best families ? ” — “I believe so. Indeed, 
I know the families of all except one.” — “ And who is she ? ” 

— “ Her name is Ellen Murray, but I call her Darling. I 
think she must be preparing either for the opera or the ballet ; 
for in music, singing, and dancing she ’s far beyond the rest of 
us.” — “ And behind you in the other branches, I suppose.” — 
“ I ’m afraid not. She won’t be kept back. She must have 
given twice the time to study that any of the rest of us gave.” 

— “Does she seem to be of gentle blood?” — “Yes; though 
Mrs. Gentry tells us she is low-born. For all that, she ’s quite 
pretty, and knows more than Madame Groux herself about 
dress. And so Darling and I, in spite of Mrs. Gentry, were 
getting to be quite intimate, when we quarrelled on the slavery 
question, and separated.” — “ What ! the little miss is a politi- 
cian, is she ? ” — “ Oh ! she ’s a downright Abolitionist ! — talks 
like a little fury against the wrongs of slavery. I could n’t 
endure it, and so cast her off.” — “ Bring her to me. I ’ll con- 
vert her in five minutes.” — “ O you vain man ! But I wish 


238 


PECULIAR. 


you could hear her sing. Such a voice ! ” — “ Could n’t you 
give me an opportunity ? You should n’t have quarrelled with 
her, Miss Tremaine ! It rather amuses me that she should 
talk treason. Why not arrange a little musical party ? I ’ll 
come and play for you a whole evening, if you ’ll have Dar- 
ling to sing.” — “ 0, that would be so charming ! But then 
Darling and I have separated. We don’t speak.” — “Non- 
sense ! Miss Laura Tremaine can afford to offer the olive- 
branch to a poor little outcast.” — “To be sure I can, Mr. 
Vance ! And I ’ll have her here, if I have to bring her by 
stratagem.” — “ Admirable ! Just send for me as soon as you 
secure the bird. And keep her strictly caged till I can hear 
her sing.” — “ I ’ll do it, Mr. Vance. Even the dragon Gentry 
'Shall not prevent it.” — “ Shall I try the new piano ? ” — “ O, 
I ’ve been so longing to hear you ! ” 

And Vance, seating himself at the instrument, exerted him- 
self as he had rarely done to fascinate an audience. Laura, 
who had taste, if not diligence, in music, was charmed and 
bewildered. “ How delightful ! How very delightful ! ” she 
exclaimed. Vance was growing dangerous. 

At that moment the servant entered with two cards. 

“ Did you tell them I’m in ? ” — “ Yes, Mahmzel.” 

“ Well, then,” said Laura, with an air of disappointment, 
“ show them up.” And handing the cards to Vance, she 
asked, “ Shall I introduce them ? ” 

“ Mr. Robert Onslow, — Charles Kenrick. Certainly.” 

The young men entered, and were introduced. 

Kenrick drew near, and said : “ Mr. Vance, allow me the 
honor of taking you by the hand. I ’ve heard of the poor 
fellow you rescued from the halter of Judge Lynch. In the 
name of humanity, I thank you. That poor ragged declaimer 
merely spoke my own sentiments.” 

“ Indeed ! What did he say ? ” 

“ He said, according to the Delta’s report, that this was the 
rich man’s war ; that the laboring man who should lift his arm 
in defence of slavery was a fool. All which I hold to be true.” 

“Pshaw, Charles! A truce to politics!” said Onslow. 
“ Why will you thrust it into faces that frown on your wild 
notions ? ” 


WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR? 


239 


“Miss Tremaine reigns absolute in this room,” rejoined 
Vance ; “and from the slavery she imposes we have no desire, 
I presume, to be free.” 

“ And her order is,” cried Laura, “ that you sink the shop. 
Thank you, Mr. Vance, for vindicating my authority.” 

There was no further jarring. Both the young men were 
personally fine specimens of the Southern chivalric race. Ons- 
low was the larger and handsomer. He seemed to unite with 
a feminine gentleness the traits that make a man popular and 
beloved among men ; a charming companion, sunny-tempered, 
amiable, social, ever finding a soul of goodness in things evil, 
and making even trivialities surrender enjoyments, where to 
other men all wa3 barren. Life was to him a sort of grand 
picnic, and a man’s true business was to make himself as 
agreeable as possible, first to himself, and then to others. 

Far different seemed Kenrick. To him the important world 
was that of ideas. All else was unsubstantial. The thought 
that was uppermost must be uttered. Not to conciliate, not to 
please, even in the drawing-room, would he be an assentator, a 
flatterer. To him truth was the one thing needful, and there- 
fore, in season and out of season, must error be combated 
■whenever met. The times were of a character to intensify in 
him all his idiosyncrasies. He could not smile, and sing, and 
utter small-talk while his country was being weighed in the 
balance of the All-just, — and her institutions purged as by fire. 

And so to Laura he dwindled into insignificance. 

Vance rose to go. 

“ One song. Indeed, I must have one,” said Laura. 

Vance complied with her request, singing a favorite song of 
Estelle’s, Reichardt’s 

“Du liebes Aug’, du lieber Stern, 

Du bist mir nab’, und doch so fern!”* 

Then, pressing Laura’s proffered hand, and bowing, he left 

“ What a voice ! what a touch ! ” said Onslow. 

“ It was enchanting ! ” cried Laura. 

“ I thought he was a different sort of man,” sighed Kenrick. 

* “Beloved eye, beloved star, 

Thou art so near, and yet so far l ” 


240 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

CONFESSIONS OF A MEAN WHITE. 

“Throw thyself on thy God, nor mock him with feeble denial} 

Sure of his love, and 0, sure of his mercy at last ; 

Bitter and deep though the draught, yet drain thou the cup of thy trial, 

And in its healing effect smile at the bitterness past.” 

Lines composed by Sir John Herschel in a dream. 

A FTER an early breakfast the following morning, Vance 
proceeded to the hospital. The patient had been 
expecting him. 

“ He has seemed to know just how near you ’ve been for 
the last hour,” said the nurse. “ He followed — ” 

“ Sit down, Mr. Vance, please,” interrupted the patient. 
Vance drew a chair near to the pillow and sat down. 

“ It all kum ter me last night, Mr. Vance ! Now I 
remember whar ’t was I met yer. But fust lem me tell yer 
who an’ what I be. My name’s Quattles. I was born in 
South Kerliny, not fur from Columby. I was what the 
niggers call a mean white , and my father he was a mean white 
afore me, and all my brothers they was mean whites, and my 
sisters they mahrrid mean whites. The one thing we was 
raised ter do fiust-rate, and what we tuk ter kindly from the 
start, was ter shirk labor. We was taught ’t was degradin’ ter 
do useful work like a nigger does, so we all tried hard ter 
find su’thin’ that mowt. be easy an’ not useful.” 

“My dear fellow,” interrupted Vance, who saw the man was 
suffering, “ you ’re fatiguing yourself too much. Rest awhile.” 

“ No, Mr. Vance. You mus n’t mind these twitchin’s an’ 
spazums like. They airn’t quite as bahd as they look. Wall, 
as I war sayin’, one cuss of slavery ar’, it drives the poor 
whites away from honest labor ; makes ’em think it ’s mean- 
sperretid ter hoe corn an’ plant ’taters. An’ this feelin’, yer 
see, ar’ all ter the profit uv the rich men, — the Hammonds, 
Rhetts, an’ Draytons, — ’cause why ? ’cause it leaves ter the 


CONFESSIONS OF A MEAN WHITE. 


241 


rich all the good land, an’ drives the poor whites ter pickin’ 
up a mean livin’, any way they kin, outside uv hard work! 
Howsomever, I did n’t see this ; an’ so, like other mis’rable 
fools, I thowt I war a sort uv a ’ristocrat myself, ’cause I could 
put on airs afore a nigger. An’ this feelin’ the slave-owners 
try to keep up in the mean whites ; try to make ’em feel proud 
they ’re not niggers, though the hull time the poor cusses fare 
wuss nor any nigger in a rice-swamp.” 

“My friend,” said Vance, “you’ve got at the truth at last, 
though I fear you ’ve been long about it.” 

“ Yer may bet high on that, Mr. Vance ! How I used ter 
cuss the Abolishuners, an’ go ravin’ mahd over the meddlin’ 
Yankees! Wall, what d’ yer think war the best thing South 
Iverliny could do fur me, after never off’rin’ me a chance ter 
larn ter read an’ write ? I ’ll tell yer what the peculiar 
prermoted me ter. I riz to be foreman uv of a rat-pit.” 

“Of a what ?” interrogated Vance. 

“ Of a rat-pit. There war a feller in Charleston who kept 
a rat-pit, whar a little tareyer dog killed rats, so many a 
minute, to please the sportin’ gentry an’ other swells. Price 
uv admission one dollar. The swells would come an’ bet how 
many rats the dog would kill in a minute, — ’t was sometimes 
thirty, sometimes forty, and wunst ’twas fifty. My bus’ness 
was ter throw the rats, one after another, inter the pit. We ’d 
a big cage with a hole in the top, an’ I had ter put my bar 
hand in, an’ throw out the rats fast as I could, one by one. 
The tareyer would spring an’ break the backs uv the varmints 
with one jerk uv his teeth. Great bus’ness fur a white man, 
— war n’t it ? So much more genteel than plantin’ an’ hoein’ ! 
Wall, I kept at that pleasant trade five yars, an’ then lost my 
place ’cause both hands got so badly bit I could n’t pull out the 
rats no longer.” 

“ You must have seen things from a bad stand-point, my 
friend.” 

“ Bad as ’t was, ’t was better nor the slavery stand-pint I 
kum ter next. Yer’v heerd tell uv Jeff McTavish? Wall, 
Jeff liahd an overseer who got shot in the leg by a runaway 
swamp nigger, an’ so I was hired as a sort uv overseer’s mate. 
I war n’t brung up ter be very tender ’bout niggers, Mr. 

II r 


242 


PECULIAR. 


Yance ; but the way niggers was treated on that air plantation 
was too much even for my tough stomach. I ’ve seen niggers 
shot down dead by McTavish fur jest openin’ thar big lips to 
answer him when he was mad. There war n’t ten uv his 
slaves out uv a hunderd, that war n’t scored all up an’ down 
the back with marks uv the lash.” * 

“ Did you whip them ? ” inquired Yance. 

“ I did n’t do nothin’ else ; but I did it slack, an’ McTavish 
he found it out, and begun jawin’ me. An’ I guv it to him 
back, and we halid it thar purty steep, an’ bymeby he outs 
with his revolver, but I war too spry for him. I tripped him 
up, an’ he hahd ter ask pardon uv a mean white wunst in his 
life, an’ no mistake. A little tahmrin’ water, please.” 

Yance administered a spoonful, and the patient resumed his 
story. 

“ In coorse, I hahd ter leave McTavish. Then fur five 
years I’d a tight time of it keepin’ wooded up. What with 
huntin’ and fishin’, thimble-riggin’ an’ stealin’, I got along 
somehow, an’ riz ter be a sort uv steamboat gambler on the 
Misippy. ’T was thar I fust saw you, Mr. Yance.” 

“ On the Mississippi ! When and where ? ” 

“ Some fifteen yars ago, on boord the Pontiac, jest afore 
she blowed up.” 

“ Indeed ! I ’ve no recollection of meeting you.” 

“ Don’t yer remember Kunnle D’lancy Hyde ? ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“ Wall, I war his shadder. He could n’t go nowhar I did n’t 
foller. If he took snuff, I sneezed. If he got drunk, I 
staggered. Don’t yer remember a darkish, long-haired feller, 
he called Quattles ? ” 

“Are you that man?” exclaimed Yance, restraining his 
emotion. 

“ I ’m nobody else, Mr. Yance, an’ it ain’t fur nothin’ I ’ve 

* General Ullmann writes from New Orleans, June 6, 1863, to Governor 
Andrew: “Every man (freed negro) presenting himself to be recruited, 
strips to the skin. My surgeons report to me that not one in fifteen is free 
from marks of severe lashing. More than one half are rejected because of 
disability from lashing with whips, and the biting of dogs on calves and 
thighs. It is frightful. Hundreds have welts on their backs as large as one 
of your largest fingers.” 


CONFESSIONS OF A MEAN WHITE. 


243 


got yer here to.har what I’ve ter tell. Ef I don’t stop to say 
I ’m sorry for the mean things I done, ’t aint ’cause I hain’t some 
shame ’bout it, but ’cause time’s short. When the Pontiac 
blowed up, I an’ the Kunnle (he ’s ’bout as much uv a kunnle 
as I’m uv a bishop), we found ou’selves on that part uv the 
boat whar least damage was did. We was purty well corned, 
for we ’d been drinkin’ some, but the smash-up sobered us. The 
Kunnle’s fust thowt was fur his niggers. Says I : ‘ Let the 
niggers slide. We sh’ll be almighty luck)’- ef we keep out of 
hell ou’selves.’ ’T was. ev’ry man for hisself, yer know.” 

“Were you on the forward part of the wreck?” 

“ Yes, Mr. Yance, an’ it soon began ter sink. Poor critters, 
men an’ women, some scalded, some strugglin’ in the water, 
war cryin’ for help. The Kunnle an’ I — ” 

“ Stop a moment,” said Yance ; and, drawing out paper and 
pencil, he made copious notes. 

“ As I war sayin’, Mr. Yance, the Kunnle an’ I got four life- 
presarvin’ stools, lahshed ’em together, an’ begun ter make off 
for the shore. Says I, ‘We owt ter save one uv those women 
folks.’ A yaller gal, with a white child in her arms, was 
screamin’ out for us to take her an’ the child. Jest then she 
got a blow on the head from a block that fell from one uv the 
masts. It seemed ter make her wild, an’ she dropped inter the 
water, but held on tight ter the young ’un. Says the Kunnle 
to me, says he, ‘ Now, Cappn, you take the gal, an’ I ’ll take 
the bebby.’ An’ so we done it, and all got ashore safe. We 
lahnded on the Tennessee side. The sun hahd n’t riz, but ’t was 
jest light enough ter see. We made tracks away from the 
river till we kum ter a nigger’s desarted hut, out of sight 
’tween two hills. Thar we left the yaller gal and the bebby. 
The gal seemed kind o’ crazy ; so we fastened ’em in.” 

“ And the child ? ” asked Yance. “ Did you know whose it 
was ? ” 

“ O yes, I knowed it, ’cause I ’d seen the yaller gal more ’n 
a dozen times, off an’ on, leadin’ the little thing about. The 
Berwicks, a North’n family, was the parrents. Wall, the 
Kunnle an’ I, we went back ter the river to see what was 
goin’ on. The sun was up now. The Champion hahd turned 
back to give help. Poor critters war dyin’ all round from 


244 


PECULIAR. 


scalds and bruises. All at wunst the Kunnle an’ I kum upon 
a crowd round Mr. Berwick, who lay thar on the ground bahdly 
wounded. His wife lay dead close by. He kept askin’ fur 
his child. A feller named Burgess told him he seed the yaller 
gal an’ cliild go overboord, an’ that they must have drownded. 
Prehaps he did see ’em in the water, but he did n’t see us pick 
’em up. Old Onslow he said he an’ his boy had sarched ev’ry- 
wliar, but could n’t find the child nowhar. They b’leeved she 
was drownded. A drop uv water, Mr. Vance.” 

“And didn’t you undeceive them?” asked Vance, giving 
the water. 

“ No, Mr. Vance. The Kunnle seed a prize in that yaller 
gal, and the Devil put an idee inter his head. Says the Kunnle 
to me, says he, ‘ Now foller yer leader, Cappn.’ (He used ter 
call me Cappn.) * Swar jest as yer har me swar.’ Then up 
he steps an’ says to Mr. Onslow, ‘ Judge, it ’s all true what Mr. 
Burgess says ; the yaller gal, with the child in her arms, war 
crowded overboord. This gemmleman an’ I tried ter save 
them. Ef we didn’t, may I be shot. We throw’d the gal a 
life-presarver, but she couldn’t hold on, no how. Fust the 
child went under, an’ we was so chilled we could n’t save it. 
Then the gal let go her grip uv the stool an’ sunk. ’T war as 
much as we could do ter git ashore ou’selves.’ ” 

“ Did the judge put you to your oaths?” asked Vance. 

“Yes, Mr. Vance. He s war’d us both; then writ down all 
we said, read it over ter us, and we put our names ter it, an’ 
’t was witnessed all right. The feller Burgess bah eked us up by 
sayin’ he see us in the water jest afore the gal fell, which was 
all true. It seemed a plain case. The judge tell’d it all ter 
Mr. Berwick, an’ he growed sort o’ wild, an’ died soon arter. 
What bekummed of you all that time, Mr. Vance ? ” 

“I landed on the Arkansas side,” said Vance. “I supposed 
the Berwick family all lost. The bodies of the parents I saw 
and identified, and Burgess told me he ’d talked with two men 
who saw the child go down.” 

“ Wall, Mr. Vance. Thar ain’t much more uv a story. We 
went ter Memphis. The Kunnle Swelled round consid’rable, 
and got his name inter the newspapers. But the yuller gal 
she was sort o’ cracked-brained. She war no use ter us or ter 


CONFESSIONS OF A MEAN WHITE. 


245 


the child. The Kunnle got low-sperreted. He ’d made a bad 
spec, aliter all. He ’d lost his niggers ; an’ the yuller gal, she 
as he hoped ter sell in Noo Orleenz fur sixteen hunderd dol- 
lars, she turned out a fool. Howzomever, he found a lightish, 
genteel sort uv a nigger, a quack doctor, who took her off our 
hands. He said as how she mowt be ’panned an’ made as good 
as noo.” 

“ And what did you do with the child ? ” 

“ Wall, another bright idee hahd struck the Kunnle. Says 
he, ‘ Color this young ’un up a little, and she ’d bring risin’ uv 
four hunderd dollars at a vahndoo. Any mahn, used ter buyin’ 
niggers, would see at wunst she ’d grow up ter be a val’able 
fancy article. Ef I could afford it, I ’d hold her on spekilation 
till she war fifteen.’ Wall, Mr. Vance, uv all the mean things 
I ever done, the meanest was to let the Kunnle, whan we got 
ter Noo Orleenz, take that poor little patient thing, as I had 
toted all the way down from Memphis, an’ sell her ter the 
highest bidder.” 

With an irrepressible groan, Vance walked to the window. 
When he returned, he looked with pity on Quattles, and said, 
“ Proceed ! ” 

“ Yer see, Mr. Vance, I owed the Kunnle two hunderd dol- 
lars, he ’d won from me at euchre. He offered ter make it 
squar ei I ’d give up my int’rest in the child. Wall, I ’d got 
land o’ fond uv the little *hing ; an’ ’t was n't till I got blind 
drunk on ’t that I could bring my mind ter say yes. The thowt 
uv what I done that day has kept me drunk most ever sence. 
But the Kunnle, he tried to comfort me like. Says he , i The 
child was fairly oum, seein’ as how we saved it from drownin’.’ 
‘ Don’t take on so, old feller,’ says he. ‘ Think yerself lucky 
ef yer hahv n’t nothin’ wuss nor that agin yerself.’ But ’t was 
no go. He never could make me hold up my head agin like 
as I used ter ; an’ we two cut adrift, an’ hain’t kept ’count uv 
each other sence.” 

“ How did he dispose of the child ? ” 

“ He stained her skin till she looked like a half mulatter, an’ 
then he jest got Ripper, the auctioneer, ter sell her.” 

“ Who bought the child ? ” 

“ Wall, Cash bowt her. That ’s all I ever could find out. 
Ef Ripper knowed more, he would n’t tell.” 


246 


PECULIAR. 


“ To whom did you sell the yellow girl ? ” 

“We didn’t sell her at all. Was glad to git her off our 
hahnds at no price. The chap what took her called hisself Dr. 
Davy. He was a free nigger, a trav’lin’ quack, — one of those 
fellers that ’tises to cure ev’ry thing.” 

“ When did you last hear of him ? ” 

“ The last I heerd tell uv Davy, he war in Natchez, and that 
war five years ago.” 

“ What became of the yellow girl ? ” 

“ Wall, thar’s a quar story ’bout that. Whan we fust saw 
that air gal on the wreck, she was callin’ out ter us, 4 Take me 
an’ the child with yer ! ’ She said it wunst, an’ hahd jest begun 
ter say it again, an’ hahd got as fur as Take, whan the block 
hit her on the head, an’ she fell inter the water. Wall, six 
months ahter, Davy took that air gal ter a surgeon in Philadel- 
phy, an’ hahd her ’panned ; an’ jest as the crushed bone war 
lifted from the brain, that gal cried out, ( — me an’ the child 
with yer ! ’ Shoot me ef she did n’t finish the cry she ’d begun 
jest six months afore.* She got back her senses all straight, 
an’ Davy made her his wife.” 

“ Did you keep anything that belonged to the child ? ” 

“ Jest you feel in the pockets uv them pants under my piller, 
and git out my pus.” 

Vance obeyed, and drew forth a small bag of wash-leather. 
This he emptied on the coverlet, the contents being a few 
dimes and five-cent pieces, a tonga-bean, and a small pill-box 
covered with cotton-wool and tied round with twine. 

“ Thar ! Open that ar’ box,” said the patient. 

Vance opened it, and took out a pair of little sleeve-buttons, 
gold with a setting of coral. Examining them, he found on the 
under surface the inscription C. A. B. in diminutive characters. 

“ I ’ll tell you how ’t was,” said the wounded man. “ That 
night of the ’splosion the yuller gal an’ the child must have 
gone ter bed without ondressin’ ; for they ’d thar cloze all on. 


* Abercrombie relates an authenticated case of the same kind. A wood- 
man, while employed with his axe, was hit on the head by a falling tree. He 
remained in a semi-comatose state for a whole year. On being trepanned, he 
uttered an exclamation which was found to be the completion of the sentence 
he had been in the act of uttering when struck twelve mouths before. 


CONFESSIONS OF A MEAN WHITE. 


247 


Most like the gal fell asleep an’ forgot. Soon as we touched 
the shore, the Kunnle says ter me, says he , 1 Cap’n, you cahrry 
the child, an’ I ’ll pilot the gal.’ Wall ; I took the child in my 
arms, an’ as I cahrr’d her, I seed she wore gold buttons on the 
sleeves uv her little pelisse, — a^ pair on each ; an’, thinks I, 
the Kunnle will pocket them buttons sure. So I pocketed ’em 
myself ; but whan it kum to partin’ with the child, I jest took 
one pair uv the buttons, an sowd ’em on inside uv the bosom uv 
her little shirt whar they would n’t be seen. The other pair is 
that thar. Take ’em an’ keep ’em, Mr. Vance.” 

“ Have you any article of clothing belonging to her ? ” 

♦“ Not a rag, Mr. Vance. They all went with her.” 

“ Did you notice any mark on the clothes ? ” 

“ Yes, they was marked C. A. B., in letters worked in hahn- 
sum with white silk.” 

“ Was that the kind of letter ? ” asked Vance, who, having 
drawn the cipher in old English, held it before the patient’s 
eyes. 

“ Yes, them *s um. I remember, ’cause I used ter ondress the 
child. An’, now I think uv it, one uv her eyes was bluish, an’ 
t’ other grayish.” 

“ What day was it you parted with the child ? ” 

“The same day she was sold.” 

“ When was that ? ” 

“ It must have been in May follerin’ the ’splosion. Lem 
me see. ’T was that day I got the pill-box. I ’d been ter 
the doctor’s fur some physickin’ stuff. He give me a pre- 
scrip, an’ I went an’ got some pills in that air box, an’ then 
throwed the pills away an’ kept the box.” 

Vance glanced at the cover. The apothecary’s name and 
the number of the prescription were legible. Vance put the 
box in his pocket. 

“ Can’t yer think uv su’thin’ else ? ” asked Quattles. 

“ Only this,” replied Vance : “ How shall I manage Hyde ? ” 

“ Wall, ef the Kunnle sh’d hold up his milk, you jest say ter 
him these eer words : ‘ Dorothy Rusk must be provided for. 
What kn I do fur her ? ’ The widder Rusk is his sister, yer 
see, an’ that ’s the one soft spot the Kunnle’s got.” 

Vance carefully recorded the mysterious words ; then asked. 


248 


PECULIAR. 


“Do you remember Peek, tbe runaway slave Hyde had in 
charge ? ” 

“ In coorse I do,” said Quattles, twisting with pain from 
his wound. “ Should you ever see that nigger, Mr. Vance, tell 
him that Amos Slink, St. Joseph Street, kn tell him su’thing’ 
’bout his wife. Amos wunst tell ’d me how he ’coyed her down 
from Montreal. ’T was through that same lawyer chap that 
kum it over Peek.” 

“ Can Amos identify you as the Quattles of the Pontiac ? ” 

“ In coorse he can, for he knowed all ’bout me at the time.” 

“ And now, my friend, I wish to have this testimony of yours 
sworn to and witnessed ; but I ’m overtasking your strength” 

“ Do it, Mr. Vance. Help me ter lose my strength, ef yer 
think I kn do any good tellin’ the truth.” 

“ Can you get along without this opiate two hours longer ? ” 

“ Yes, Mr. Vance, I kn do without it altogether.” 

“ Then I ’ll leave you for two hours.” 

“ One word, Mr. Vance.” 

“ What is it ? ” 

“ Did yer ever pray ? ” 

“ Yes ; every man prays who tries to do good or undo evil. 
You ’ve been praying for the last hour, my friend.” 

“ How did yer know that ? I ’ve been thinkin’ of it, that ’s 
a fak. But I ’m not up to it, Mr. Vance. Could you pray for 
me jest three minutes ? ” 

“ Willingly, my poor fellow.” 

And kneeling at the little cot, Vance, holding a hand of the 
sufferer, prayed for him so tenderly, so fervently, and so search- 
ingly withal, that the poor dying outcast wept as he had never 
wept before. 0 precious tears, parting the mist that hung up- 
on his future (even as clouds are parted that hide the sunset’s 
glories), and revealing to his spiritual eyes new possibilities of 
being, fruits of repentance, through a mercy which (God be 
thanked !) is not measured by the mercy of men. 

Leaving the hospital, Vance stepped into an office, and drew 
up, in the form of a deposition, all the facts elicited from Quat- 
tles. His next step was to find Amos Slink. That gentleman 
had settled down in the second-hand clothing business. Vance 
made a liberal purchase of hospital clothing ; and then adverted 


CONFESSIONS OF A MEAN WHITE. 


240 


to the past exploits of Amos in the u nigger-catching ” line. 
Amos proudly produced letters to authenticate his prowess. 
They bore the signature of Charlton. “ I want yoti to lend 
me those letters, Mr. Slink.” 

u Could n’t do it, Mr. Vance. Them letters I mean to hand 
down to my children.” 

“ Well, it’s of no consequence. I’ll go into the next store 
for the rest of my goods.” 

“ Don’t think of it. Here !, take the letters. Only return ’em.” 
Vance not only secured the letters, but got Mr. Slink to go 
■with him to the hospital to identify Quattles. 

Then, on liis way, enlisting three friends who were good 
Union men, one of them being a justice of the peace, Vance 
led them where the wounded man lay. Slink, who was known 
to the parties, identified the patient as the Mr. Quattles of the 
Pontiac; and the identification was duly recorded and sworn 
to. Vance then read his notes aloud to Quattles, whose com- 
petency to listen and understand was formally attested by the 
surgeon. The justice administered the oath. Quattles put his 
name to the document, and the signature was duly witnessed 
by all present. 

No sooner was the act completed than the patient sank into 
unconsciousness. “ He ’ll not rally again,” said the surgeon. 
A quick, heavy breathing, gradually growing faint and fainter, 
— and lo ! there was a smile on the face, but the spirit that 
had left it there had fled ! 

Vance first went to the apothecary whose name was on the 
pill-box. “ Did Mr. Gargle keep the books in which he pasted 
his prescriptions ? ” 

“ Yes, he had them for twenty years back.” 

“ Would he look in the volume for 18 — , for a certain 
number ? ” 

“ Willingly.” 

In two minutes the number was found, and the day of the 
prescription fixed. Vance then proceeded to the office of 
L'Abeille , turned to the newspaper of that day, and there, in 
the advertising columns, found a sale advertised by P. Pipper 
& Co., auctioneers. It was a sale of a “ lot ” of negroes ; and 
as a sort of postscript to the specifications was the following : — 
II* 


250 


PECULIAR. 


“ Also, one very promising little girl, an orphan, two years 
old, almost white ; can take care of herself ; promises to be 
very pretty ; has straight, brown hair, regular features, first- 
rate figure. Warranted sound and healthy. Amateurs who 
would like to train up a companion to their tastes will find this 
a rare opportunity to purchase.” 

Not pausing to indulge the emotions which these cruel words 
awoke, Vance went in search of Ripper & Co. The firm had 
been broken up more than ten years before. Not one of the 
partners was in the city. They had disappeared, and left no 
trace. Were any of their old account-books in the warehouse ? 
No. The building had been burnt to the ground, and a new 
one erected on its site. 

“ Where next ? ” thought Vance. “ Plainly to Natchez, to 
see if I can learn anything of Davy and his wife.” 


MEETINGS AND PARTINGS. 


251 


CHAPTER XXV. 

MEETINGS AND PARTINGS. 

“ I hold it true, whate’er befall, — 

I feel it when I sorrow most, — 

’T is better to have loved and lost 
Than never to have loved at all.” 

Tennyson. 

I T being too late to take the boat for Natchez, Vance pro- 
ceeded to the St. Charles. The gong for the fire o’clock 
ordinary had sounded. Entering the dining-hall, he was about 
taking a seat, when he saw Miss Tremaine motioning to him 
to occupy one vacant by her side. 

“ Truly an enterprising young lady ! ” But what could 
he do? 

“ I ’m so glad to see you, Mr. Vance ! I ’ve not forgotten 
my promise. I called to-day on Mrs. Gentry, — found her in 
the depths. Miss Murray has disappeared, — absconded, — 
nobody knows where ! ” 

“ Indeed ! After what you Ve said of her singing, I ’m very 
anxious to hear her. Do try to find her.” 

“ I ’ll do what I can, Mr. Vance. There ’s a mystery. Of 
that much I ’m persuaded from Mrs. Gentry’s manner.” 
a You mustn’t mind Darling’s notions on slavery.” 

“ O no, Mr. Vance, I shall turn her over to you for con- 
version.” 

“ Should you succeed in entrapping her, detain her till I 
come back from Natchez, which will be before Sunday.” 

“ Be sure I’ll hold on to her.” 

Mr. Tremaine came in, and began to talk politics. Vance 
was sorry he had an engagement. The big clock of the hall 
pointed to seven o’clock. He rose, bowed, and left. 

“ Why,” sighed Laura, “ can’t other gentlemen be as agree- 
able as this Mr. Vance ? He knows all about the latest fash- 
ions ; all about modes of fixing the hair ; all about music and 


252 


PECULIAR. 


dancing ; all about the opera and the theatre ; in short, what is 
there the man does n’t know ? ” 

Papa was too absorbed in his terrapin soup to answer. 

Let us follow Vance to the little house, scene of his brief, 
fugitive days of delight. He stood under the old magnolia in 
the tender moonlight. The gas was down in Clara’s room. 
She was at the piano, extemporizing some low and plaintive 
variations on a melody by Moore, “ When twilight dews are 
falling soft.” Suddenly she stopped, and put up the gas. 
There was a knock at her door. She opened it, and saw 
Vance. They shook hands as if they were old friends. 

“ Where are the Bernards ? ” 

“ They are out promenading. I told them I was not afraid.” 
“ How have you passed your time, Miss Perdita ? ” 

“ 0, I ’ve not been idle. Such choice books as you have 
here ! And then what a variety of music ! ” 

“ Have you studied any of the pieces ? ” 
u Not many. That from Schubert.” 

“ Please play it for me.” 

Tacitly accepting him as her teacher, she played it without 
embarrassment. Vance checked her here and there, and sug- 
gested a change. He uttered no other word of praise than to 
say : “ If you ’ll practise six years longer four hours a day, 
you ’ll be a player.” 

“ I shall do it ! ” said Clara. 

“ Have you heard that famous Hallelujah Chorus, which the 
Northern soldiers sing ? ” 

“ No, Mr. Vance.” 

“ No ? Why, ’t is in honor of John Brown (any relation of 
Perdita?) You shall hear it.” 

And he played the well-known air, now appropriated by the 
hand-organs. Clara asked for a repetition, that she might 
remember it. 

“ Sing me something,” he said. 

Clara placed on the reading-frame the song of “ Pestal.” 

“ Hot that, Perdita ! What possessed you to study that? ” 

“ It suited my mood. Will you not hear it ? ” 

“ Ho ! . . . . Yes, Perdita. Pardon my abruptness. But 
that song was the first I ever heard from lips, 0 so fair and 
dear to me!” 


MEETINGS AND PARTINGS. 


253 


Clara put aside the music, and walked away toward the 
window. Vance went up to her. He could see that she was 
with difficulty curbing her tears. 

O, if this man whose very presence inspired such confidence 
and hope, — if it was sweeter to him to remember another than 
to listen to her, — where in the wide world should she find, in 
her desperate strait, a friend ? 

There was that in her attitude which reminded Vance of 
Estelle. Some lemon-blossoms in her hair intensified the asso- 
ciation by their odors. For a moment it was as if he had 
thrown off the burden of twenty years, and was living over, in 
Clara’s presence, that ambrosial hour of first love on the very 
spot of its birth. “ For O, she stood beside him like liis 
youth, — transformed for him the real to a dream, clothing 
the palpable and the familiar with golden exhalations of the 
dawn ! ” Be wary, Vance ! One look, one tone amiss, and 
there ’ll be danger ! 

“ Let us talk over your affairs,” he said. “ To-morrow I 
must leave for Natchez. Will you remain here till I come 
back ? ” 

Clara leaned out of the window a moment, as if to enjoy the 
balmy evening, and then, calmly taking a seat, replied : “ I 
think ’t will be best for me to lay my case before Miss Tre- 
maine. True, we parted in a pet, but she may not be impla- 
cable. Yes, I mil call on her. To you, a stranger, what return 
for your kindness can I make ? ” 

“ This return, Perdita : let me be your friend. As soon as 
’t is discovered you ’ve no money, your position may become a 
painful one. Let me supply you with funds. I ’m rich ; and 
my only heir is my country.” 

“ No, Mr. Vance ! I ’ve no claim upon you, — none whatever. 
What I want for the moment is a shelter ; and Laura will give 
me that, I ’m confident.” 

Vance reflected a moment, and then, as if a plan had occurred 
to him by which he could provide for her without her knowing 
it, he replied : “We shall probably meet at the St. Charles. 
You can easily send for me, should you require my help. Be 
generous, and say you ’ll notify me, should there be an hour of 
need ? ” 


254 


PECULIAR. 


“ I ’ll not fail to remember you in that event, Mr. Vance.* 

“ Honor bright ? ” 

“ Honor bright, Mr. Vance ! ” 

“ Consider, Perdita, you can always find a home in this 
house. I shall give such directions to Mrs. Bernard as will 
make your presence welcome.” 

“ Then I shall not feel utterly homeless. Thank you, Mr. 
Vance ! ” 

“ And by the way, Perdita, do not let Miss Tremaine know 
that we are acquainted.” 

“ I ’ll heed your caution, Mr. Vance.” 

“We shall meet again, my dear young lady. Of that I feel 
assured.” 

“ I hope so, Mr. Vance.” 

“ And now farewell ! I ’ll tell Bernard to order a carriage 
and attend to your baggage. Good by, Perdita ! ” 

“ Good by, Mr. Vance.” 

Again they shook hands, and parted. Vance gave his 
directions to the Bernards, and then strolled home to his hotel. 
As he traversed the corridor leading to his room, he encoun- 
tered Kenrick. Their apartments were nearly opposite. 

“I was not aware we were such near neighbors, Mr. 
Kenrick.” 

“To me also ’tis a surprise, — and a pleasant one. Will 
you walk in, Mr. Vance ? ” 

“ Yes, if ’t is not past your hour for visitors.” 

They went in, and Kenrick put up the gas. “I can’t 
offer you either cigars or whiskey ; but you can ring for what 
you want.” 

“ Is it possible you eschew alcohol and tobacco ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Kenrick ; u I once indulged in cigars. But 
I found the use so offensive in others that I myself abandoned 
it in disgust. One sits down to converse with a person 
disguised as a gentleman, and suddenly a fume, as if from the 
essence of old tobacco-pipes, mixed with odors from stale 
brandy-bottles, poisons the innocent air, and almost knocks one 
down. It ’s a mystery that ladies endure the nuisance of such 
breaths. My sensitive nose has made me an anti-rum, anti- 
tobacco man.” 


MEETINGS AND PARTINGS. 


255 


“ But I fear me you ’re a come-outer, Mr. Kenrick ! Is it 
conservative to abuse tobacco and whiskey ? No wonder you 
are unsound on the slavery question ! ” 

“ Come up to the confessional, Mr. Vance! Admit that 
you ’re as much of an antislavery man as I am.” 

“ More, Mr. Kenrick ! If I were not, I might be quite as 
imprudent as you. And then I should put a stop to my 
usefulness.” 

“ You puzzle me, Mr. Vance.” 

“ Not as much as you ’ve puzzled me, my young friend. 
Come here, and look in the mirror with me.” 

Vance took him by the hand and led him to a full-length 
looking-glass. There they stood looking at their reflections. 

“ What do you see ? ” asked Vance. 

“ Two rather personable fellows,” replied Kenrick, laughing ; 
“one of them ten or twelve years older than the other; 
height of the two, about the same ; figures very much alike, 
inclining to slimness, but compact, erect, well-knit ; hands and 
feet small ; heads, — I have no fault to find with the shape or 
size of either ; hair similar in color ; eyes, — as near as I can 
see, the two pairs resemble each other, and the crow’s-feet at 
the corners are the same in each; features, — nose, — brows 
— I see why you ’ve brought me here, Mr. Vance ! We are 
enough alike to be brothers.” 

“ Can you explain the mystery ? ” asked Vance, “ for I 
can’t. Can there be any family relationship ? I had an aunt, 
now deceased, who was married to a Louisianian. But his 
name was not Kenrick.” 

“What was it?” 

“Arthur Maclain.” 

“My father! Cousin, your hand! In order to inherit 
property, my father, after his marriage, procured a change of 
name. I can’t tell you how pleasant to me it is to meet one 
of my mother’s relations.” 

They had come together still more akin in spirit than in 
blood. The night was all too short for the confidences they 
now poured out to each other. Vance told his whole story, 
pausing occasionally to calm down the excitement which the 
narrative caused in his hearer. 


256 


PECULIAR. 


When it was finished Kenrick said : “ Cousin, count me 

your ally in compassing your revenge. May God do so to me, 
and more also, if I do not give this beastly Slave Power blood 
for blood.” 

“ I can’t help thinking, Charles,” said Vance, “ that your 
zeal has the purer origin. Mine sprang from a personal 
experience of wrong; yours, from an abstract conception of 
what is just; from those inner motives that point to righteous- 
ness and God.” 

“ I almost wish sometimes,” replied Kenrick, “ that I had 
the spur of a great personal grievance to give body to my 
wrath. And yet Slavery, when it lays its foul hand on the 
least of these little ones ought to be felt by me also, and by all 
men ! But now — now — I shall not lack the sting of a 
personal incentive. Your griefs, cousin, fall on my own heart, 
and shall not find the soil altogether barren. This Ratcliff, — 
I know him well. He has been more than once at our house. 
A perfect type of the sort of beast born of slavery, — 
moulded as in a matrix by slavery, — kept alive by slavery ! 
Take away slavery, and he would perish of inanition. He 
would be, like the plesiosaur, a fossil monster, representative 
of an extinct genus.” 

“ Cousin,” said Vance, “ all you lack is to join the serpent 
with the dove. Be content to bide your time. Here in 
Louisiana lies your work. We must make the whole western 
bank of the Mississippi free soil. Texas can be taken care of 
in due time. But with a belt of freedom surrounding the 
Cotton States, the doom of slavery is fixed. Give me to see 
that day, and I shall be ready to say , 4 Now, Lord, dismiss thy 
servant ! ’ ” 

“ I had intended to go North, and join the army of free- 
dom,” said Kenrick ; “ but what you say gives me pause.” 

“ We must not be seen together much,” resumed Vance. 
“ And now good night, or rather, good morning, for there ’s a 
glimmer in the east, premonitory of day. Ah, cousin, when I 
hear the braggarts around us, gassing about Confederate cour- 
age and Yankee cowardice, I can’t help recalling an old couplet 
I used to spout, when an actor, from a play by Southern, — 

‘ There is no courage but in innocence, 

No constancy but in an honest cause 1 ’ ** 


/ 


CLARA MAKES AN IMPORTANT PURCHASE. 


257 


CHAPTER XXYI. 


CLARA MAKES AN IMPORTANT PURCHASE. 


“ Allow slavery to be ever so humane. Grant that the man who owns me is ever so 
kind. The wrong of him who presumes to talk of owning me is too unmeasured to be 
softened by kindness.” 



AURA TREMAINE had just come in from a drive with 


B J her invalid mother, and stood in the drawing-room looking 
out on a company of soldiers. There was a knock at the door. 
A servant brought in a card. It said, “ Will Laura see Dar- 
ling ? ” The arrival, concurring so directly with Laura’s wishes, 
caused a pleasurable shock. “ Show her in,” she said ; and the 
next moment the maidens were locked in each other’s embrace. 

“ O, you dear little good-for-nothing Darling,” said Laura, 
after there had been a conflux of kisses. “ Could anything be 
more apropos ? What ’s the meaning of all this ? Have you 
really absconded ? Is it a love affair ? Tell me all about it. 
Rely on my secrecy. I ’ll be close as bark to a tree.” 

“ Will you solemnly promise,” said Clara, “ on your honor as 
a lady, not to reveal what I tell you ? ” 

“ As I hope to be saved, I promise,” replied Laura. 

“ Then I will tell you the cause of my leaving Airs. Gentry’s. 
’T was only day before yesterday she told me, — look at me, 
Laura, and say if I look like it ! — she told me I was a slave.” 

“ A slave ? Impossible ! Why, Darling, you ’ve a com- 
plexion whiter than mine.” 

“So have many slaves. The hue of my skin will not invali- 
date a claim.” 

“ That ’s true. But who presumes to claim you ? ” 

“ Air. Carberry Ratcliff.” 

“ A friend of my father’s ! He ’s very rich. I ’ll ask him 
to give you up. Let me go to him at once.” 

“ No, Laura, I ’ve seen the man. ’T would be hopeless to 
try to melt him. You must help me to get away.” 


Q 


258 


PECULIAR. 


“ But you do not mean, — surely you do not mean to — 
to — ” 

“ To what, Laura ? You seem gasping with horror at some 
frightful supposition. What is it ? ” 

“ You ’d not think of running off, would you ? You would n’t 
ask me to harbor a fugitive slave ? ” 

Clara. looked at the door. The color flew to her cheek, — 
flamed up to her forehead. Her bosom heaved. Emotions of 
unutterable detestation and disgust struggled for expression. 
But had she not learnt the slave’s first lesson, duplicity ? Her 
secret had been confided to one who had forthwith showed her- 
self untrustworthy. Bred in the heartless fanaticism which 
slavery engenders, Laura might give the alarm and have her 
stopped, should she rise suddenly to go. Farewell, then, white- 
robed Candor, and welcome Dissimulation ! 

After a pause, “ What do you advise ? ” said Clara. 

“ Well, Darling, stay with me a week or two, then go quietly 
back to Mrs. Gentry’s, and play the penitent.” 

u Had n’t I better go at once ? ” asked Clara, simulating 
meekness. 

“ 0 no, Darling ! I can’t possibly permit that. Now I ’ve 
got you, I shall hold on till I ’ve done with you. Then we ’ll 
see if we can’t persuade Mr. Ratcliff to free you. Who ’d have 
thought of this little Darling being a slave ! ” 

“ But had n’t I better w r rite to Mrs. Gentry and tell her 
where I am ? ” 

“ No, no. She ’ll only be forcing you back. You shall do 
nothing but stay here till I tell you you may go. You shall 
play the lady for one week, at least. There ’s a Mr. Yance in 
the house, to whom I ’ve spoken of your singing. He ’s wild 
to hear you. I ’ve promised him he shall. I would n’t disap- 
point him on any account.” 

Clara saw that, could she but command courage to fall in 
with Laura’s selfish plans, it might, after all, be safer to come 
thus into the very focus of the city’s life, than to seek some 
corner, penetrable to police-officers a^d slave-liunters. 

“ How will you manage ? ” asked Clara. 

“ What more simple ? ” replied Laura. “ I ’ll take you right 
into my sleeping-room ; you shall be my schoolmate, Mi ss 


CLARA MAKES AN IMPORTANT PURCHASE. 25£ 

Brown, come to pass a few days with me before going to St. 
Louis. Papa wiU never think of questioning my story.” 

“ But I ’ve no dresses with me.” 

“No matter. I Ve a plenty I ’ve outgrown. They ’ll fit you 
beautifully. Come here into my sleeping- room. It adjoins, you 
see. There! We’re about of a height, though I’m a little 
stouter.” 

“ It will not be safe for me to appear at the public table.” 

“ Well, you shall be an invalid, and I ’ll send your meals 
from the table when I send mother’s. Miss Brown from St. 
Louis ! Let me see. What shall be your first name ? ” 

“ Let it be Perdita.” 

“ P erdita ? The lost one ! Good. How quick you are ! 
Perdita Brown ! It does not sound badly. Mr. Onslow, — • 
Miss Brown, — Miss Perdita Brown from St. Louis ! Then 
you ’ll courtesy, and look so demure ! Won’t it be fun ? ” 

Between grief and anger, Clara found disguise a terrible 
effort. So ! Her fate so dark, so tragic, was to be Laura’s 
pastime, not the subject of her grave and tender consideration ! 

Already had some of the traits, congenital with slavery, 
begun to develop themselves in Clara. Strategy now seemed 
to her as justifiable under the circumstances as it would be in 
escaping from a murderer, a lunatic, or a wild beast. Was not 
every pro-slavery man or woman her deadly foe, — to be cheat- 
ed, circumvented, robbed, nay, if need be, slain, in defence of 
her own inalienable right of liberty ? The thought that Laura 
was such a foe made Clara look on her with precisely the same 
feelings that the exposed sentinel might have toward the lurk- 
ing picket-shooter. 

An expression so strange flitted over Clara’s face, that Laura 
asked : “ What ’s the matter ? Don’t you feel well ? ” 

Checking the exasperation surging in her heart, Clara affect- 
ed frivolity. “ O, I feel well enough,” she replied. “ A little 
tired, — that’s all. What if this Mr. Onslow should fall in 
love with me?” 

“ O, but that would be too good ! ” exclaimed Laura. Be- 
tween you and me, I owe him a spite. I ’ve just heard he once 
said, speaking of me, ‘ Handsome, — but no depth ! ’ Hang 
the fellow! I’d like to punish him. He’s proud as Lucifer. 


260 


PECULIAR. 


"Would n’t it be a joke to let him fall in love with a poor little 
slave ? ” 

“ So, you don’t mean to fall in love with him yourself? ” 

“ O no ! Pie ’s good-looking, but poor. Can you keep a 
secret ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, I mean to set my cap for Mr. Vance.” 

“ Possible ? ” 

“ Yes, Perdita. He ’s fine-looking, of the right age, very 
rich, and so altogether fascinating! Father learnt yesterday 
that he pays an enormous tax on real estate.” 

“ And is he the only string to your bow ? ” 

“ 0 no. But our best young men are in the army. Onslow 
is a captain. 0, I must n’t forget Charles Kenrick. Onslow 
is to bring him here. Kenrick’s father owns a whole brigade 
of slaves. Hark ! Dear me ! That was two o’clock. Will 
you have luncheon ? ” 

“ No, thank you. I’m not hungry.” 

“ Then I must leave you. I’ve an appointment with my 
dressmaker. In the lower drawers there you ’ll find some of 
my last year’s dresses. I ’ve outgrown them. Amuse your- 
self with choosing one for to-night. We shall have callers.” 

Laura hurried off. Clara, terrified at the wrathfulness of 
her own emotions, walked the room for a while, then dropped 
upon her knees in prayer. She prayed to be delivered from 
her own wild passions and from the toils of her enemies. 

With softened heart, she rose and went to the window. 

There, on the opposite sidewalk, stood Esha ! Crumpling 
up some paper, Clara threw it out so as to arrest her attention, 
then beckoned to her to come up. Stifling a cry of surprise, 
Esha crossed the street, and entered the hotel. The next min- 
ute she and Clara had embraced. 

“ But how did you happen to be there, Esha ? ” 

“ Bress de chile, I ’ze been stahndin’ dar de last hour, but 
what for I knowed no more dan de stones. ’T warn’t till I seed 
de chile hersef it ’curred ter me what for I ’d been stahndin 
dar.” 

“ What happened after I left home ? ” 

“ Dar war all sort ob a fuss dat ebber you see, darlin’. Fust 


CLARA MARES AX IMPORTANT PURCHASE. 


261 


de ole woman war all struck ob a heap, like. Den Massa Rat- 
cliff, he come, and he swar like de Debbie hisself. He cuss’d 
de ole woman and set her off cryin’, and den he swar at her all 
de more. Dar was a gen’ral break-down, darlin’. Massa Rat- 
cliff he ’b goin’ ter gib yer fortygraf ter all de policemen, an’ 
pay five hundred dollar ter dat one as ’ll find yer. He sends 
us niggers all off — me an’ Tarquin an’ de rest — ter hunt yer 
up. He swar he ’ll hab yer, if it takes all he ’s wuth. He 
come agin ter-day an’ trow de ole woman inter de highstrikes. 
She say he ’ll be come up wid, sure, an’ you ’ll be come up wid, 
an’ eberybody else as does n’t do like she wants ’em ter, am 
bound to be come up wid. Yah, yah, yah ! Who ’s afeard ?” 

“ So the hounds are out in pursuit, are they ? ” 

“ Yes, darlin’. Look dar at dat man stahndin’ at de corner. 
He’m one ob ’em.” 

“ He ’s not dressed like a policeman.” 

“ Bress yer heart, dese ’tektivs go dressed like de best 
gem’men about. Yer ’d nebber suspek dey was doin’ de work 
ob hounds.” 

“Well, Esha, I’m afraid to have you stay longer. I’m 
here with Miss Tremaine. She may be back any minute. I 
can’t trust her, and would n’t for the world have her see 
you here.” 

“ No more would I, darlin’ ! Nebber liked dat air gal. 
She ’m all fur self. But good by, darlin’ ! It ’s sich a comfort 
ter hab seed you ! Good by ! ” 

Esha slipped into the corridor and out of the hotel. Clara 
put on her bonnet, threw a thick veil over it, and hurried 
through St. Charles Street' to a well-known cutlery store. 
“ Show me some of your daggers,” said she ; “ one suitable 
as a present to a young soldier.” 

The shopkeeper displayed several varieties. She selected 
one with a sheath, and almost took away the breath of the 
man of iron by paying for it in gold. Dropping her veil, she 
passed into the street. As she left the shop, she saw a man 
affecting to look at some patent pistols in the window. He 
was well dressed, and sported a small cane. 

“ Hound number one ! ” thought Clara to herself, and, having 
walked slowly away in one direction, she suddenly turned, 


262 


PECULIAR. 


retraced her steps, then took a narrow cross-street that de- 
bouched into one of the principal business avenues. The 
individual had followed her, swinging his cane, and looking in 
at the shop-windows. But Clara did not let him see he was 
an object of suspicion. She slackened her pace, and pretended 
to be looking for an article of muslin, for she would stop and 
examine the fabrics that hung at the doors. 

Suddenly she saw Esha approaching. Moment of peril! 
Should the old black woman recognize and accost her, she was 
lost. On came the old slave, her eyes wide open and her 
thoughts intent on detecting detectives. Suddenly, to her 
consternation, she saw Clara stop before a “ magasin” and take 
up some muslin on the shelf outside the window ; and almost 
in the same glance, she saw the gentleman of the cane, 
watching both her and Clara out of the corners of his eyes. 
A sideway glance, quick as lightning from Clara, and deliv- 
ered without moving her head, was enough to enlighten Esha. 
She passed on without a perceptible pause, and soon appeared 
to stumble, as if by accident, almost into the arms of the 
detective. He caught her by the shoulder, and said, “ Don’t 
turn, but tell me if .you noticed that woman there, — there by 
Delmar’s, with a green veil over her face ? ” 

“ Yes, massa, I seed a woman in a green veil.” 

“ Well, are you sure she may n’t be the one ? ” 

“ Bress yer, massa, I owt to know de chile I ’ze seed grow 
up from a bebby. Beckon I could tell her widout seein’ 
her face.” 

“ Go back and take a look at her. There ! she steps into 
the shop.” 

Glad of the opportunity of giving Clara a word of caution, 
Esha passed into Delmar’s. Beckoning Clara into an alcove, 
she said : “ De veil, darlin’ ! De veil ! Dat ole rat would 

nebber hab suspek noting if ’t hahd n’t been fur de veil. His 
part ob de play am ter watch eb’ry woman in a veil.” 

“ I see my mistake, Esha. I ’ve been buying a dagger. 
Look there ! ” 

“ De Lord save us ! ” said Esha, with a shudder, half of 
horror and half of sympathy. “ Don’t be in de street oftener 
dan yer kin help, darlin’ ? Remember de fotygrafs. Dar ! T 
mus go.” 


CLARA MAKES AN IMPORTANT PURCHASE. 


263 


Esha joined the detective. “ Did you get a good sight of 
her?” he asked. 

“ Went right up an’ spoke ter her,” said Esha. “ She ’s jes 
as much dat gal as she V Madame Beauregard.” 

The detective, his vision of a $ 500 douceur melting into 
thin air, pensively walked off to try fortune on a new beat. 

Clara, now that the danger was over, began to tremble. 
Hitherto she had not quailed. Leaving the shop, she took the 
nearest way to the hotel. For the last twenty-four hours 
agitation and excitement had prevented her taking food. 
Wretchedly faint, she stopped and took hold of an iron lamp- 
post for support. 

An officer in the Confederate uniform, seeing she was ill, 
said, “ Mademoiselle, you need help. Allow me to escort 
you home.” 

Dreading lest she should fall, through feebleness, into worse 
hands, Clara thanked him and took his proffered arm. “To 
the St. Charles, sir, if you please.” 

“ I myself stop at the St. Charles. Allow me to introduce 
myself: Robert Onslow, Captain in Company D, Wigman 
Regiment. May I ask whom I have the pleasure of assisting ? ” 

“ Miss Brown. I ’m stopping a few days with my friend, 
Miss Tremaine.” 

“Indeed! I was to call on her this evening. We may 
renew our acquaintance.” 

“ Perhaps.” 

Clara suddenly put down her veil. Approaching slowly 
like a fate, rolled on the splendid barouche of Mr. Ratcliff. 
He sat with arms folded and was smoking a cigar. Clara 
fancied she saw arrogance, hate, disappointment, rage, all 
written in his countenance. Without moving his arms, he 
bowed carelessly to Onslow. 

“ That ’s one of the prime managers of the secession move- 
ment.” 

“So I should think,” said Clara; but Onslow detected 
nothing equivocal in the tone of the remark. Having escorted 
her to the door of Miss Tremaine’s parlor, he bowed his 
farewell, and Clara went in. Laura had not yet returned. 


26 d 


PECULIAK. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

DELIGHT AND DUTY. 


“ Aocording to oar living here, we shall hereafter, by a hidden concatenation of 
causes, be drawn to a condition answerable to the purity or impurity of our souls in 
this life : that silent Nemesis that passes through the whole contexture of the universe, 
ever fatally contriving us into such a state as we ourselves have fitted ourselves for by 
our accustomary actions. Of so great consequence is it, while we have opportunity, to 
aspire to the best things.” — Henry More, A. D. 1659. 

I T may seem strange that Onslow and Kenrick, differing 
so widely, should renew the friendship of their boyhood. 
We have seen that Onslow, allowing the aesthetic side of his 
nature to outgrow the moral, had departed from the teachings 
of his father on the subject of slavery. Kenrick, in whom the 
moral and devotional faculty asserted its supremacy over all 
inferior solicitings, also repudiated his paternal teachings ; but 
they were directly contrary to those of his friend, and, in aban- 
doning them, he gave up the prospect of a large inheritance. 

To Onslow, these thick-lipped, woolly-headed negroes, — 
what were they lit for but to be hewers of wood and drawers 
of water to the gentle and refined ? It was monstrous to sup- 
pose that between such and him there could be equality of 
any kind. The ethnological argument was conclusive. Had 
not Professor Moleschott said that the brain of the negro con- 
tains less phosphorus than that of the white man ? Proof 
sufficient that Cuffee was expressly created to pull off my 
boots and hoe in my cotton-fields, while I make it a penal 
offence to teach him to read ! 

Onslow, too, had been fortunate in his intercourse with 
slaveholders. Young, handsome, and accomplished, he had 
felt the charm of their affectionate hospitality. He had found 
taste, culture, and piety in their .abodes ; all the graces and all 
the amenities of life. What wonder that he should narcotize 
his moral sense with the aroma of these social fascinations ! 
Even at the North, where the glamour they cast ought not to 
distort the sight, and where men ought healthfully to look the 


DELIGHT AND DUTY. 


265 


abstract abomination full in the face, and testify to its deform- 
ity, — how many consciences were drugged, how many hearts 
shut to justice and to mercy ! 

With Kenrick, brought up on a plantation where slavery 
existed in its mildest form, meditation on God’s law as written 
in the enlightened human conscience, completely reversed the 
views adopted from upholders of the institution. Thenceforth 
the elegances of his home became hateful. He felt like a 
robber in the midst of them. 

The spectacle of some hideous, awkward, perhaps obscene 
and depraved black woman, hoeing in the corn-field, instead 
of awakening in his mind, as in Onslow’s, the thought that she 
was in her proper place, did but move him to tears of bitter 
contrition and humiliation. How far there was sin or account- 
ability on her part, or that of her progenitors, he could not 
say ; but that there was deep, immeasurable sin on the part 
of those who, instead of helping that degraded -nature to rise, 
made laws to crush it all the deeper in the mire, he could not 
fail to feel in anguish of spirit. Through all that there was in 
her of ugliness and depravity, making her less tolerable than 
the beast to his aesthetic sense, he could still detect those traits 
and possibilities that allied her with immortal natures, and in 
her he saw all her sex outraged, and universal womanhood 
nailed to the cross of Christ, and mocked by unbelievers ! 

The evening of the day of Clara’s arrival at the St. Charles, 
Onslow and Kenrick met by agreement in the drawing-room 
of the Tremaines. Clara had told Laura, that, in going out to 
purchase a few hair-pins, she had been taken suddenly faint, 
and that a gentleman, who proved to be Captain Onslow, had 
escorted her home. 

“ Could anything be more apt for my little plot ! ” said 
Laura. “ But consider ! Here it is eight o’clock, and you ’re 
not dressed ! Do you know how long you ’ve been sleeping ? 
This will never do ! ” 

A servant knocked at the door, with the information that 
two gentlemen were in the drawing-room. 

“ Dear me ! I must go in at once,” said Laura. “ Now 
tell me you ’ll be quick and follow, Darling.” 

Clara gave the required pledge, and proceeded to arrange 
12 


266 


PECULIAR. 


her hair. Laura looked on for a minute envying her those 
thick brown tresses, and then darted into the next room where 
the visitors were waiting. Greeting them -with her usual ani- 
mation of manner, she asked Onslow for the news. 

“ The news is,” said Onslow, “ my friend Charles is under- 
going conversion. We shall have him an out-and-out Seces- 
sionist before the Fourth of July.” 

“ On what do you base your calculations ? ” asked Kenrick. 

“ On the fact that for the last twelve hours I have n’t heard 
you call down maledictions on the Confederate cause.” 

“ Perhaps I conclude that the better part of valor is discre- 
tion.” 

“ No, Charles, yours is not the Falstaffian style of courage.” 

“ Well, construe my mood as you please. Miss Tremaine, 
your piano stands open. Does it mean we ’re to have music ? ” 

“ Yes. Has n’t the Captain told you of his meeting a young 
lady, — Miss Perdita Brown ? ” 

“ I ’ll do him the justice to say he did tell me he had escorted 
such a one.” 

“ What did he say of her ? ” 

“ Nothing, good or bad.” 

“ But that ’s very suspicious.” 

“ So it is.” 

“ Pray who is Miss Perdita Brown ? ” asked Onslow. 

“ She ’s a daughter of — of — why, of Mr. Brown, of course. 
He lives in St. Louis.” 

“ Is she a good Secessionist ? ” 

“ On the contrary, she ’s a desperate little Abolitionist.” 

u Look at Charles ! ” said Onslow. “ He ’s enamored already. 
I ’m sorry she is n’t secesh.” 

“ Think of the triumph of converting her ! ” said Laura. 

“ That indeed ! Of course,” said Onslow, “ like all true wo- 
men, she ’ll take her politics from the man she loves.” 

And the Captain smoothed his moustache, and looked hand- 
some as Phoebus Apollo. 

“ 0 the conceit ! ” exclaimed Laura. “ Look at him, Mr. 
Kenrick ! Is n’t he charming ? Where ’s the woman- who 
would n’t turn Mormon, or even Yankee, for his sake ? Surely 
one of us weak creatures could be content with one tenth or 


DELIGHT AND DUTY. 


267 


even one twentieth of the affections of so superb an Ali. Come 
sir, promise me I shall be the fifteenth Mrs. Onslow when you 
emigrate to Utah.” 

Onslow was astounded at this fire of raillery. Could the 
lady have heard of any disparaging expression he had dropped ? 

“ Spare me, Miss Laura,” he said. “ Don’t deprive the 
Confederacy of my services by slaying me before I ’ve smelt 
powder.” 

“ Where ’s Miss Brown all this while ? ” asked Kenrick. 

Laura went to the door, and called “ Perdita ! ” 

“ In five minutes ! ” was the reply. 

Clara was dressing. When, that morning, she came in from 
her walk, she thought intently on her situation, and at last 
determined on a new line of policy. Instead of playing the 
humble companion and shy recluse, she would now put forth 
all her powers to dazzle and to strike. She would, if possible, 
make friends, who should protest against any arbitrary claim 
that Ratcliff might set up. She would vindicate her own right 
to freedom by showing she was not born to be a slave. All 
who had known her should feel their own honor wounded in 
any attempt to injure hers. 

Having once fixed before herself an object, she grew calm 
and firm. When her dinner was sent up, she ate it with a good 
appetite. Sleep, too, that had been a stranger to her so many 
hours, now came to repair her strength and revive her spirits. 

No sooner had Laura left to attend to her visitors, than 
Clara plunged into the drawers containing the dresses for her 
choice. With the rapidity of instinct she selected the most be- 
coming ; then swiftly and deftly, with the hand of an adept 
and the eye of an artist, she arranged her toilet. A dexterous 
adaptation of pins speedily rectified any little defect in the fit. 
Where were the collars ? Locked up. No matter ! There 
was a frill of exquisite lace round the neck of the dress ; and 
this little narrow band of maroon velvet would serve to relieve 
the bareness of the throat. What could she clasp it witli ? 
Laura had not left the key of her jewel-box. A common pin 
would hardly answer. Suddenly Clara bethought herself of the 
little coral sleeve-button, wrapped up in the strip of bunting. 
That would serve admirably. Yes. Nothing could be better. 


268 


PECULIAR. 


It was her only article of jewelry ; though round her right 
wrist she wore a hair-bracelet of her own braiding, made from 
that strand given her by Esha ; and from a flower-vase she had 
taken a small cape-jasmine, white as alabaster, and fragrant as 
a garden of honeysuckles, and thrust it in her hair. A fan ? 
Yes, here is one. 

And thus accoutred she entered the room where the three 
expectants were seated. 

On seeing her, Laura’s first emotion was one of admiration, 
as at sight of an imposing entree at the opera. She was sud- 
denly made aware of the fact that Clara was the most beautiful 
young woman of her acquaintance ; nay, not only the most 
beautiful, but the most stylish. So taken by surprise was she, 
so lost in looking, that it was nearly a third of a minute before 
she introduced the young gentlemen. Onslow claimed acquaint- 
ance, presented a chair, and took a seat at Clara’s side. Ken- 
rick stood mute and staring, as if a paradisic vision had dazed 
his senses. When he threw off his bewilderment, he quieted 
himself with the thought, “ She can’t be as beautiful as she 
looks, — that ’s one comfort. A shrew, perhaps, — or, what is 
worse, a coquette ! ” 

“ When were you last in St. Louis, Miss Brown ? ” asked 
Onslow. 

“ All questions for information must be addressed to Miss 
Tremaine,” said Clara. “ I shall be happy to talk with you on 
things I know nothing about. Shall we discuss the Dahlgreu 
gun, or the Ericsson Monitor ? ” 

“ So ! She sets up for an eccentric,” thought Onslow. “ Per- 
haps politics would suit you,” he added aloud. “ I hear you ’re 
an Abolitionist.” 

“ Ask Miss Tremaine,” said Clara. 

“ 0, she has betrayed you already,” replied Onslow. 

“ Then I ’ve nothing to say. I ’m in her hands.” 

“ Is it possible,” said Kenrick, who was irrepressible on the 
one theme nearest his heart, “ is it possible Miss Brown can’t 
see it, — can’t see the loveliness of that divine cosmos which 
we call slavery ? Poor deluded Miss Brown ! I know not what 
other men may think, but as for me, give me slavery or give 
me death ! Do you object to woman-whipping, Miss Brown ? ” 


DELIGHT AND DUTY. 


269 


“I confess I’ve my prejudices against it,” replied Clara. 
“ But these charges of woman-whipping, you know, are Aboli- 
tion lies.” 

“ Yes, so Northern conservatives say ; but we of the planta- 
tions know that nearly one half the whippings are of women.” * 

“ Come ! Sink the shop ! ” cried Laura. “ Are we so dull 
we can’t find anything but our horrible bete noir for our 
amusement ? Let us have scandal, rather ; nonsense, rather ! 
Tell us a story, Mr. Kenrick.” 

“Well; once on a time — how would you like a ghost- 
story ? ” 

“Above all things. Charming! Only ghosts have grown 
so common, they no longer thrill us.” 

“ Yes,” said Kenrick, — whose trivial thoughts ever seemed 
to call up his serious, — “yes; materialism has done a good 
work in its day and generation. It has taught us that the 
business of this world must go on just as if there were no 
ghosts. The supernatural is no longer an incubus and an 
oppression. Its phenomena no longer frighten and paralyze. 
Let us, then, since we are now freed from their terrors, welcome 
the great facts themselves as illumining and confirming all 
that there is in the past to comfort us with the assurance of 
continuous life issuing from seeming death.” 

“ Dear Mr. Kenrick, is this a time for a lecture ? ” expostu- 
lated Laura. “ Are n’t you bored, Perdita ? ” 

* Among the foul records the Rebellion has unearthed is one, found at 
Alexandria, La., being a stray leaf from the diary of an overseer in that 
vicinity, in the year 1847. It chronicles the whippings of slaves from April 
20 to May 21. Of thirty-nine whippings during that period, nineteen were 
of females. We give a few extracts from this precious and authentic 
document: — 

“ April 20. Whipped Adam for cutting cotton too wide. Nat, for thinning 
cotton. — 21. Adaline and Clem, for being behind. — 24. Esther, for leaving 
child out in yard to let it cry. — 27. Adaline, for being slow getting out of 
quarters. — 28. Daniel, for not having cobs taken out of horse-trough. — 
May 1. Anna, Jo, Hannah, Sarah, Jim, and Jane, for not thinning corn right. 
Cletn, for being too long thinning one row of corn. Esther, for not being out 
of quarters quick enough. — 10. Adaline, for being last one out with row. — 
15. Esther, for leaving grass in cotton. — 17. Peggy, for not hoeing as much 
cane as she ought to last week. — 18. Polly, for not hoeing faster. — 20 . 
Martha, Esther, and Sarah, for jawing about row, while I was gone. — 21. 
Polly, for not handling her hoe faster.” 

A United States officer from Cambridge, Mass., sent home this stray leaf, 
and it was originally published in the Cambridge Chronicle. 


270 


PECULIAR. 


“ On the contrary, I ’m interested.’* 

“ What do yon think of spiritualism, Miss Brown ? ” 

“ I ’ve witnessed none of the phenomena, hut I don’t see 
why the testimony of these times, in regard to them, should n’t 
be taken as readily as that of centuries back.’* 

“ My father is a believer,” said Onslow ; “ and I have cer- 
tainly seen some unaccountable things, — tables lifted into the 
air, — instruments of music floated about, and played on 
without visible touch, — human hands, palpable and warm, 
coming out from impalpable air: — all very queer and very 
inexplicable! But what do they prove? Cui bono ? What 
of it all?” 

“ 1 Nothing in it!’ as Sir Charles Coldstream says of the 
Vatican,” interposed Laura. 

“You demand the use of it all, — the cui bono , — do 
you ? ” retorted Kenrick. “ Did it ever occur to you to make 
your own existence the subject of that terrible inquiry, cui 
bono ? ” 

“ Certainly,” replied Onslow, laughing ; “ my cui bono is to 
fight for the independence of the new Confederacy.” 

“And for the propagation of slavery, eh?” returned Ken- 
rick. “I don’t see the cui bono. On the contrary, to my 
fallible vision, the world would be better off without than with 
you. But let us take a more extreme case. These youths 
— Tom, Dick, and Harry — who give their days and nights, 
not to the works of Addison, but to gambling, julep-drinking, 
and cigar-smoking, — who hate and shun all useful work, — 
and are no comfort to anybody, — ‘only a shame and affliction 
to somebody, — can you explain to me the cui bono of their 
corrupt and unprofitable lives?” 

“ But how undignified in a spirit to push tables about and 
play on accordions ! ” 

“Well, what authority have you for the supposition that 
there are no undignified spirits? We know there are weak 
and wicked spirits in the flesh ; why not out of the flesh ? A 
spirit, or an intelligence claiming to be one, writes an ungram- 
matical sentence or a pompous commonplace, and signs Bacon 
to it ; and you forthwith exclaim, ‘ Pooh ! this can’t come from 
a spirit.’ How do you know that ? May n’t lies be told in other 


DELIGHT AND DUTY. 


271 


worlds than this? Will the ignoramus at once be made a 
scholar, — the dullard a philosopher, — the blackguard a 
gentleman, — the sinner a saint, — the liar truthful, — by the 
simple process of elimination from this husk of flesh ? Make 
me at once altogether other than what I am, and you anni- 
hilate me, and there is no immortality of the soul.” 

“ But what has the ghost contributed to our knowledge 
during these fourteen years, since he appeared at Rochester ? 
Of all he has brought us, we may say, with Shakespeare, 
‘ There needs no ghost come from the grave to tell us that.’ ” 

“ I ’ll tell you what the ghost has contributed, not at Roches- 
ter merely, but everywhere, through the ages. He has con- 
tributed himself. You say, cut bono ? And I might say of ten 
thousand mysteries about us, cut bono ? The lightning strikes 
the church-steeple, — cut bono? An idiot is born into the 
world, — cm bono ? It is absurd to demand as a condition of 
rational faith, that we should prove a cut bono. A good or a 
use may exist, and we be unable to see it. And yet grave 
men are continually thrusting into the faces of the investiga- 
tors of these phenomena this preposterous cui bono ? ” 

“ Enough, my dear Mr. Kenrick ! ” exclaimed Laura. 

But he was not to be stopped. He rose and paced the 
room, and continued : “ The cut bono of phenomena must of 

course be found in the mind that regards them. ‘ I can’t find 
you both arguments and brains,’ said Dr. Johnson to a noodle 
who thought Milton trashy. One man sees an apple fall, and 
straightway thinks of the price of cider. Newton sees it, and 
it suggests gravitation. One man sees a table rise in the air, 
and cries : ‘ It can’t be a spirit ; ’t is too undignified for a 
spirit ! ’ Mountford sees it, and the immortality of the soul is 
thenceforth to him a fact as positive as any fact of science.” 

“ Your story, dear Mr. Kenrick, your story ! ” urged Laura. 

“ My story is ended. The ghost has come and vanished.” 

“ Is that all ? ” whined Laura. “ Are n’t we, then, to have a 
story ? ” 

“ In mercy give us some music, Miss Brown,” said Onslow. 

“ Play Yankee Doodle, with variations,” interposed Kenrick. 

“ Not unless you ’d have the windows smashed in,” pleaded 
Onslow ; and, giving his arm, he waited on Clara to the piano. 


272 


PECULIAK. 


She dashed into a medley of brilliant airs from operas, 
uniting them by extemporized links of melody to break the 
abruptness of the transitions. The young men were both 
connoisseurs; and they interchanged looks of gratified aston- 
ishment. 

“ And now for a song ! ” exclaimed Laura. 

Clara paused a moment, and sat looking with clasped hands 
at the keys. Then, after a delicate prelude, she gave that 
song of Pestal, already quoted.* She gave it with her whole 
soul, as if a personal wrong were adding intensity to the 
defiance of her tones. 

Kenrick, wrought to a state of sympathy which he could not 
disguise, had taken a seat where he could watch her features 
while she sang. When she had finished, she covered her face 
with her hands, then, finding her emotion uncontrollable, rose 
and passed out of the room. 

“ What do you think of that, Charles ? ” asked Onslow. 

“ It was terrible,” said Kenrick. “ I wanted to kill a slave- 
holder while she sang.” 

“ But she has the powers of a prima donna, ” said Onslow, 
turning to Laura. 

“ Yes, one would think she had practised for the stage.” 

Clara now returned with a countenance placid and smiling. 

“ How long do you stay in New Orleans, Miss Brown ? ” 
inquired Onslow. 

“ How long, Laura ? ” asked Clara. 

“A week or two.” 

“ We shall have another opportunity, I hope, of hearing you 
sing.” 

‘‘I hope so.” 

“ I have an appointment now at the armory. Charles, are 
you ready to walk?” 

“ No, thank you. I prefer to remain.” 

Onslow left, and, immediately afterwards, Laura’s mother 
being seized with a timely hemorrhage, Laura was called off 
to attend to her. Kenrick was alone with Clara. Charming 
opportunity ! He drew from her still another and another 
song. He conversed with her on her studies, — on the books 

* See Chapter XII. page 112. 


DELIGHT AND DUTY. 


273 


slie had read, — the pictures she had seen. He was roused by 
her intelligence and wit. He spoke of slavery. Deep as was 
his own detestation of it, she helped him to make it deeper. 
What delightful harmony of views! Kenrick felt that his 
time had come. The hours slipped by like minutes, yet there 
he sat chained by a fascination so new, so strange, so delightful, 
he marvelled that life had in it so much of untasted joy. 

Kenrick was not accustomed to be critical in details. He 
looked at general effects. But the most trifling point in 
Clara’s accoutrements was now a tiling to be marked and 
remembered. The little sleeve-button dropped from the band 
round her throat. Kenrick picked it up, — examined it, — ■ 
saw, in characters so fine as to be hardly legible, the letters 
C. A. B. upon it. (“ B. stands for Brown,” thought he.) And 
then, as Clara put out her hand to receive it, he noticed the 
bracelet she wore. “ What beautiful hair ! ” he said. He 
looked up at Clara’s to trace a resemblance. But his glance 
stopped midway at her eyes. “ Blue and gray ! ” he mur- 
mured. 

“ Yes, can you read them ? ” asked Clara. 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Only a dream I had. There ’s a letter on them somebody 
is to open and read.” 

“ O, that I were a Daniel to interpret ! ” said Kenrick. 

At last Miss Tremaine returned. Her mother had been 
dangerously ill. It was an hour after midnight. Sincerely 
astounded at finding it so late, Kenrick took his leave. Heart 
and brain were full. “ Thou art the wine whose drunken- 
ness is all I can desire, O love ! ” 

And how was it with Clara ? Alas, the contrariety of the 
affections ! Clara simply thought Kenrick a very agreeable 
young man: handsome, but not so handsome as Onslow; 
clever, but not so clever as Yance ! 


12 * 


B 


274 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A LETTER OF BUSINESS. 


“ This war’s duration can be more surely calculated from the moral progress of the 
North than from the result of campaigns in the field. Were the whole North to-day as 
one man on the moral issues underlying the struggle, the Rebellion were this day crushed. 
God bids us, I think, be just and let the oppressed go free. Let us do his bidding, 
and the plagues cease.” — Letter from a native of Richmo-id , V a. 

T HE following letter belongs chronologically to this stage 
in our history : — 

4 

From F. Macon Semmes, New York , to T. J. Semmes, New 
Orleans. 

“ Dear Brother : I have called, as you requested, on 
Mr. Charlton in regard to his real estate in New Orleans. 
Let me give you some account of this man. He is taxed for 
upwards of a million. He inherited a good part of this sum 
from his wife, and she inherited it from a nephew, the late Mr. 
Berwick, who inherited it from his infant daughter, and this 
last from her mother. Mother, child, and father — the whole 
Berwick family — were killed by a steamboat explosion on the 
Mississippi some fifteen or sixteen years ago. 

“ In the lawsuit which grew out of the conflicting claims of 
the relatives of the mother on the one side, and of the father 
on the other, it was made to appear that the mother must have 
been killed instantaneously, either by the inhalation of steam 
from the explosion, or by a blow on the head from a splinter ; 
either cause being sufficient to produce immediate death. It 
was then proved that the child, having been seen with her 
nurse alive and struggling in the water, must have lived after 
the mother, — thus inheriting the mother’s property. But it 
was further proved that the child was drowned, and that the 
father survived the child a few hours ; and thus the father’s 
heir became entitled to an estate amounting to upwards of a 
million of dollars, all of which was thus diverted from the 
Aylesford family (to whom the property ought to have gone), 
and bestowed on a man alien in blood and in every other 
respect to all the parties fairly interested. 


A LETTER OF BUSINESS. 


275 


“ This fortunate man was Charlton. The scandal goes, that 
even the wife from whom he derived the estate (and who died 
before he got it) had received from him such treatment as to 
alienate her wholly. The nearest relative of Mrs. Berwick, 
nee Aylesford, is a Mrs. Pompilard, now living with an aged 
husband and with dependent step-children and grandchildren, 
in a state of great impoverishment. To this aunt the large 
property derived from her brother, Mr. Aylesford, ought to 
have gone. But the law gave it to a stranger, this Charlton. 
I mention these facts, because you ask me to inform you what 
manner of man he is. 

“ Let one little anecdote illustrate. Mr. Albert Pompilard, 
now some eighty years old, has been in his day a great oper- 
ator in Wall Street. He has made half a dozen large fortunes 
and lost them. Five years ago, by a series of bold and fortu- 
nate speculations, he placed himself once more on the top 
round of the financial ladder. He paid off all his debts with 
interest, pensioned off a widowed daughter, lifted up from the 
gutter several old, broken-down friends, and advanced a hand- 
some sum to his literary son-in-law, Mr. Cecil Purling, who 
had found, as he thought, a short cut to fortune. Pompilard 
also bought a stylish place on the Hudson ; and people sup- 
posed he would be content to keep aloof from the stormy fluc- 
tuations of Wall Street. 

“ But one day he read in the financial column of the news- 
paper certain facts that roused the old propensity. His near 
neighbor was a rich retired tailor, a Mr. Maloney, an Irish- 
man, who used to come over to play billiards with the venera- 
ble stock-jobber. Pompilard had made a visit to Wall Street 
the day before. He had been fired with a grand scheme of 
buying up the whole of a certain stock (in which sellers at 
sixty days at a low figure were abundant) and then holding 
on for a grand rise. He did not find it difficult to kindle the 
financial enthusiasm of poor Snip. 

“ Brief, the two simpletons went into the speculation, and 
lost every cent they were worth in the world. Simultaneously 
with their break-down, Purling, the son-in-law, managed to lose 
all that had been confided to his hands. The widowed daugh- 
ter, Mrs. Ireton, gave up all the little estate her father had 
settled on her. Poor Maloney had to go back to his goose ; 
and Pompilard, now almost an octogenarian, has been obliged, 
he and his family, to take lodgings in the cottage of his lato 
gardener. 

“ The other day Mr. Hicks, a friend of the family, learning 


276 


PECULIAR. 


that they were actually pinched in their resources, ventured to 
call upon Charlton for a contribution for their relief. After 
an evident inward struggle, Charlton manfully pulled out his 
pocket-book, and tendered — what, think you ? — why, a ten- 
dollar bill ! Hicks affected to regard the tender as an insult, 
and slapped the donor’s face. Charlton at first threatened a 
prosecution, but concluded it was too expensive a luxury. 
Thus you see he is a miser. It was with no little satisfaction, 
therefore, that I called to communicate the state of his affairs 
in New Orleans. 

“ He lives on one of the avenues in a neat freestone house, 
such as could be hired for twenty-five hundred a year. There 
is a stable attached, and he keeps a carriage. Soon after he 
burst upon the fashionable world as a millionnaire, there was a 
general competition among fashionable families to secure him 
for one of the daughters. But Charlton, with all his wealth, 
did not want a wife who was merely stylish, clever, and beau- 
tiful ; she must be rich into the bargain. He at last encoun- 
tered such a one (as he imagined) in Mi§s JDykvelt, a member 
of one of the old Dutch families. He proposed, was accepted, 
married, — and three weeks afterwards, to his consternation 
and horror, he received an application from old D., the father- 
in-law, for a loan of a hundred thousand dollars. 

“ Charlton, of course, indignantly refused it. He found that 
he had been, to use his own words, ( taken in and done for.’ 
Old Dykvelt, while he kept up the style of a prince, was on 
the verge of bankruptcy. The persons to whom Charlton ap- 
plied for information, knowing the object of the inquiry and 
the meanness of the inquirer, purposely cajoled him with stories 
of Dykvelt’s wealth. Charlton fell into the trap. Charlotte 
Dykvelt, who was in love at the time with young Ireton (a 
Lieutenant in the army and a grandson of old Pompilard), 
yielded to the entreaties of her parents and married the man 
she detested. She was well versed in the history of his first 
wife, and resolved that her own heart, wrung by obedience to 
parental authority, should be iron and adamant to any attempt 
Charlton might make to wound it. 

“ He soon found himself overmatched. The bully and tyrant 
was helpless before the impassive frigidity and inexorable deter- 
mination of that young and beautiful woman. He had a large 
iron safe in his house, in which he kept his securities and cou- 
pons, and often large sums of money. One day he discovered 
he had been robbed of thirty thousand dollars. He charged the 
theft upon his wife. She neither denied nor confessed it, but 


A LETTER GF BUSINESS. 


277 


treated him with a glacial scorn before which he finally cowered 
and was dumb. Undoubtedly she had taken the money. She 
forced him against his inclination to move into a decent house, 
and keep a carriage ; and at last, by a threat of leaving him, 
she made him settle on her a liberal allowance. 

“ A loveless home for him, as you may suppose ! One daugh- 
ter, Lucy Charlton, is the offspring of this ill-assorted marriage ; 
a beautiful girl, I am told, but who shrinks from her father’s 
presence as from something odious. Probably the mother’s 
impressions during pregnancy gave direction to the antipathies 
of the child ; so that before it came into the world it was father- 
less. 

“ Well, I called on Charlton last Thursday. As I passed the 
little sitting-room of the basement, I saw a young and lovely 
girl putting her mouth filled with seed up to the bars of a cage, 
and a canary-bird picking the food from her lips. A cat, who 
seemed to be on excellent terms with the bird, was perched 
on the girl’s shoulder, and superintending the operation. So, 
thought I, she exercises her affections in the society of these 
dumb pets rather than in that of her father. 

“ I found Charlton sitting lonely in a sort of library scantily 
furnished with books. A well-formed man, but with a face 
haggard and anxious as if his life-blood were ebbing irrecover- 
ably with every penny that went from his pockets. On my 
mentioning your name, his eyes brightened ; for he inferred I 
had come with your semiannual remittances. He was at once 
anxious to know if rents in New Orleans had been materially 
affected by the war. I told him his five houses near Lafayette 
Square, excepting that occupied on a long lease by Mr. Car- 
berry Ratcliff, would not bring in half the amount they did last 
year. He groaned audibly. I then told him that your semi- 
annual collections for him amounted to six thousand dollars, but 
that you were under the painful necessity of assuring him that 
* the money would have to be paid all over to the Confederate 
government. 

“ Charlton, completely struck aghast, fell back in his chair, 
his face pale, and his lips quivering. I thought he had fainted. 

“ ‘ Your brother would n’t rob me, Mr. Semmes ? * he gasped 
forth. 

“ ‘ Certainly not,’ I replied ; 1 but his obedience is due to the 
authorities that are uppermost. The Confederate flag waves 
over New Orleans, and will probably continue to wave. All 
your real estate has been or will be confiscated.’ 

“ ‘ But it is worth two hundred thousand dollars ! ’ he ex- 
claimed, in a tone that was almost a shriek. 


278 


PECULIAR. 


“ ‘ So much the better for the Confederate treasury ! ’ I replied. 

“ I then broached what you told me to in regard to his making 
a bona fide sale of the property to you. I offered him twenty 
thousand dollars in cash, if he would surrender all claim. 

“ ‘ Never ! never ! ’ he exclaimed. ‘ I ’ll run my risk of the 
city’s coming back into our possession. I see through your 
brother’s trick.’ 

“‘Please recall that word, sir,’ I said, touching my wrist- 
bands. 

“ ‘ Well, your brother’s plan , sir. Will that suit you ? ’ 

“ ‘ That will do,’ I replied. ‘ My brother will pay your ten 
thousand dollars over to the Confederacy. But I am author- 
ized to pay you a tenth part of that sum for your receipt in full 
of all moneys due to you for rents up to this time.’ 

“ ‘ Ha ! you Secessionists are not quite so positive, after all, as 
to your fortune ! ’ he exclaimed. ‘ You ’re a little weak-kneed 
as to your ability to hold the place, — eh ? ’ 

“ ‘ The city will be burnt,’ I replied, ‘ before the inhabitants 
will consent to have the old flag restored. You ’d better make 
the most, Mr. Charlton, of your opportunity to compound for 
a fractional part of the value of your Southern property.’ 

“ It was all in vain. I could n’t make him see it. He hates 
the war and the Lincoln administration; but he won’t sell 
or compound on the terms you propose. And, to be frank, I 
would n’t if I were he. It would be a capital thing for us if he 
could be made to do it. But as he is in no immediate need of 
money^we cannot rely on the stimulus of absolute want to in- 
fluence him as we wish. I took my leave, quite disgusted with 
his obstinacy. 

“ The fall of Sumter seems to have fired the Northern heart 
in earnest. I fear we are going to have serious work with 
these Yankees. Secretary Walker’s cheerful promise of raising 
the Confederate flag over Faneuil Hall will not be realized for 
some time. Nevertheless, we are bound to prevail — I hope. 
Of course every Southern man will die in the last ditch rather 
than yield one foot of Southern soil to Yankee domination. 
We must have Maryland and the Chesapeake, Fortress Mon- 
roe, and all the Gulf forts, Western Virginia, Missouri, Ken- 
tucky, Delaware, — every square inch of them. Not a rood 
must we part with. We can whip, if we ’ll only think so. 
We ’re the master race, and can do it. Can hold on to our 
niggers into the bargain. At least, we ’ll talk as if we 
believed it. Perhaps the prediction will work its fulfilment. 
Who knows? 

“ F raternally yours, F. M. S.” 


THE WOMAN WHO DELIBERATES IS LOST. 


279 


CHAPTER XXIX 


THE WOMAN WHO DELIBERATES IS LOST. 


“0 North-wind ! blow strong with God’s breath in twenty million men.” — Rev. 
fohn Weiss. 

“ Loud wind, strong wind, sweeping o’er the mountains, 

Fresh wind, free wind, blowing from the sea, 

Pour forth thy vials like streams from airy fountains, 

Draughts of life to me.” — Miss Muloch. 



,N coming down to the breakfast-table one morning, 


Kenrick was delighted to encounter Vance, and asked, 
“ What success ? ” 

“ I found in Natchez,” was the reply, “ an old colored man 
who knew Davy and his wife. They removed to New York, 
it seems, some three years ago. I must push my inquiries 
further. The clew must not be dropped. The old man, my 
informant, was formerly a slave. He came into my room at 
the hotel, and showed me the scars on his back. Ah ! I, too, 
could have showed scar's, if I had deemed it prudent.” 

“ Cousin William,” said Kenrick, “ I wouldn’t take the tes- 
timony of our own humane overseer as to slavery. I have 
studied the usages on other plantations. Let me show you a 
photograph which I look at when my antislavery rage wants 
kindling, which is not often.” 

He produced the photograph of a young female, apparently 
a quarteroon, sitting with back exposed naked to the hips, — 
her face so turned as to show an intelligent and rather handsome 
profile. The flesh was all welted, seamed, furrowed, and scarred, 
as if both by fire and the scourge. 

“ There ! ” resumed Kenrick, “ that I saw taken myself, and 
know it to be genuine. It is one out of many I have collected. 
The photograph cannot lie. It will be terrible as the recording 
angel in reflecting slavery as this civil war will unearth it. 
What will the Carlyles and the Gladstones say to this ? Will 
it make them falter, think you, in their Sadducean hoot against 


280 


PECULIAR. 


a noble people who are manfully fighting the great battle of 
humanity against such infernalism a s this ? ” 

“ They would probably fall back on the doubter’s privilege.” 

“ Yes, that ’s the most decent way of escape. But I would 
pin them with the sharp fact. That woman (her name was 
Margaret) belonged to the Widow Gillespie,* on the Black 
River. Margaret had a nursing child, and, out of mater- 
nal tenderness, had disobeyed All's. Gillespie’s orders to wean 
it. For this she was subjected to the punishment of the 
hand-saw . She was laid on her faqe, her clothes stripped up to 
around her neck, her hands and feet held down, and Mrs. 
Gillespie, sitting by, then ‘ paddled,’ or stippled the exposed 
body with the hand-saw. She then had Margaret turned over, 
and, with heated tongs, attempted to grasp her nipples. The 
writhings of the victim foiled her purpose ; but between the 
breasts the skin and flesh were horribly burned.” 

“ A favorite remark,” said Vance, “ with our smug apologists 
of slavery, is, that an owner’s interests will make him treat a 
slave well. Undoubtedly in many cases so it is. But I have 
generally found that human malignity, anger, or revenge is 
more than a match for human avarice. A man will often 
gratify his spite even at the expense of his pocket.” 

Kenrick showed the photograph of a man with his back 
scarred as if by a shower of fire. 

“ Tliis poor fellow,” said Kenrick, “ shows the effects of the 
corn-husk punishment ; not an unusual one on some plantations. 
The victim is stretched out on the ground, with hands and feet 
held down. Dry corn-husks are then lighted, and the burning 
embers are whipped off with a stick so as to fall in showers of 
live sparks on the naked back. Such is the ‘ patriarchal’ 
system ! Such the tender mercies bestowed on ‘ our man-ser- 
vants and our maid-servants,’ as that artful dodger, Jeff Davis, 
calls our plantation slaves.” 

“ And yet,” remarked Vance, “ horrible as these things are, 
how small a part of the wrong of slavery is in the mere physi- 
cal suffering inflicted ! ” 

“ Yes, the crowning outrage is mental and moral.” 

“ This war,” resumed Vance, “ is not sectional, nor geographi- 

* The names and the facts are real. See Harper’s Weekly, July 4, 1863. 


THE WOMAN WHO DELIBERATES IS LOST. 


281 


cal, nor, in a party sense, political : it is a war of eternally an- 
tagonistic principles, — Belial against Gabriel.” 

“ I took up a Northern paper to-day,” said Kenrick, “ in 
which the writer pleads the necessity of slavery, because, he 
says, ‘ white men can’t work in the rice-swamps.’ Truly, a 
staggering argument ! The whole rice production of the Unit* 
ed States is only worth some four millions of dollars per 
annum ! A single factory in Lowell can beat that. And we 
are asked to base a national policy on such considerations ! ” 

Here the approach of guests led to a change of topic. 

* And how have your affairs prospered ? ” asked Vance. 

“ Ah ! cousin,” replied Kenrick, “ I almost blush to tell you 
what an experience I’ve had.” 

“ Not fallen in love, I hope ? ” 

“ If it is n’t that, ’t is something very near it. The lady is 
staying with Miss Tremaine. A Miss Perdita Brown. Onslow 
took me to see her.” 

“ And which is the favored admirer ? ” * 

“ Onslow, I fear. I ’m not a lady’s man, you see. Indeed, 
I never wished to be till now. Give me a few lessons, cousin. 
Teach me a little small-talk.” 

u I must know something of the lady first.” 

“ To begin at the beginning,” said Kenrick, “ there can be 
no dispute as to her beauty. But there is a something in her 
manner that puzzles me. Is it lack of sincerity ? Not that. 
Is it preoccupation of thought ? Sometimes it seems that. 
And then some apt, flashing remark indicates that she has her 
wits on the alert. You must see her and help me read her. 
You visit Miss Laura ? ” 

“ Yes. I ’ll do your bidding, Charles. How often have you 
seen this enchantress?” 

“ Too often for my peace of mind : three times.” 

“ Is she a coquette ? ” 

“ If one, she has the art to conceal art. There seems to be 
something on her mind more absorbing than the desire to fasci- 
nate. She’s an unconscious beauty.” 

“ Say a deep one. Shall we meet at Miss Tremaine’s 
to-night ? ” 

“ Yes ; the moth knows he ’ll get singed, but flutter he must.” 


282 


PECULIAR. 


“ Take comfort, Charles, in that of thought of Tennyson’s, 
who tells us, 

‘ That not a moth with vain desire 
Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire.’ ” 

The cousins parted. They had no sooner quitted the break- 
fast-room than Onslow entered. After a hasty meal, he took 
his sword-belt and military-cap, and walked forth out of the 
hotel. As he passed Wakeman’s shop, near by, for the sale of 
books and periodicals, he was attracted by a photograph in a 
small walnut frame in the window. Stopping to examine it, he 
uttered an exclamation of surprise, stepped into the shop, and 
said to Wakeman, “ Where did you get that photograph ? ” 

“ That was sent here with several others by the photographer. 
You’ll find his name on the back.” 

“ I see. What shall I pay you for it ? ” 

“ A dollar.” 

u There it is.” 

♦ Onslow took the picture and left the shop, but did not notice 
that he was followed by a well-dressed gentleman with a cigar 
in his mouth. This individual had been for several days watch- 
ing every passer-by who looked at that photograph. He now 
followed Onslow to the head-quarters of his regiment ; put an 
inquiry to one of the members of the Captain’s company, and 
then strolled away as if he had more leisure than he knew 
what to do with. But no sooner had he turned a corner, than 
he entered a carnage which was driven off at great speed. 

Not an hour had passed when a black man in livery put into 
Onslow’s hands this note : — 

“ Will you come and dine with me at five to-day without 
ceremony ? Please reply by the bearer. 

“ Yours, C. Ratcliff.” 

What can he want ? thought Onslow, somewhat gratified by 
such an attention from so important a leader. Presuming that 
the object merely was to ask some questions concerning military 
matters, the Captain turned to the man in livery, and said, 
“ Tell Mr. Ratcliff I will come.” 

Punctually at the hour of five Onslow ascended the marble 
steps of Ratcliff’s stately house, rang the bell, and was ushered 
into a large and elegantly furnished drawing-room, the windows 


THE WOMAN WHO DELIBERATES IS LOST. 


283 


of which were heavily curtained so as to keep out the glare of 
the too fervid sunlight. Pictures and statues were disposed 
about the apartment, but Onslow, who had a genuine taste for 
art, could find nothing that he would covet for a private gallery 
of his own. 

Ratcliff entered, habited in a cool suit of grass-cloth. The 
light hues of his vest and neck-tie heightened the contrast of 
his somewhat florid complexion, which had now lost all the 
smoothness of youth. Self-indulgent habits had faithfully done 
their work in moulding his exterior. Portly and puffy, he 
looked much older than he really was. But in his manner of 
greeting Onslow there was much of that charm which renders 
the hospitality of a plantation lord so attractive. Throwing 
aside all that arrogance which would have made his overseers 
and tradespeople keep their distance, he welcomed Onslow 
like an old friend and an equal. 

“ You ’ve a superb house here,” said the ingenuous Captain. 

“ ’T will do, considering that I sometimes occupy it only a 
month in the year,” replied Ratcliff. “ I ’m glad to say 1 only 
hire it. The house belonged to a Miss Aylesford, a Yankee 
heiress ; then passed into the possession of a New York man, 
one Charlton ; but I pay the rent into the coffers of the Con- 
federate government. The property is confiscate.” 

“ Won’t the Yankees retaliate ? ” 

“We sha’n’t allow them to.” 

“ After we ’ve whipped Yankee-Doo-dle-dom, what then ? ” 

“ Then a strong military government. Having our slaves 
to work for us, we shall become the greatest martial nation in 
the world. Our poor whites, now a weakness and a burden, 
we will convert into soldiers and Cossacks ; excepting the arti- 
san and trading classes, and them we must disfranchise.” * 

“ Can we expect aid from England ? ” asked Onslow. 

“ Not open aid, but substantial aid nevertheless. Exeter 
Hall may grumble. The doctrinaires , the Newmans, Brights, 

* Mr. W. S. Grayson of Mississippi writes, in De Bow’s Review (August, 
1860): “Civil liberty has been the theme of praise among men, and most 
wrongfully. This is the infatuation of our age.” And Mr. George Fitz- 
hugh of Virginia writes: “ Men are never efficient in military matters, or in 
industrial pursuits, until wholly deprived of their liberty. Loss of liberty is 
no disgrace." 


284 


PECULIAR. 


Mills, and Cobdens may protest and agitate. The English 
clodhoppers, mudsills, and workies of all kinds will sympathize 
of course with the low-born Yankees. But the master race of 
England, the non-producers, will favor the same class here. 
The disintegration of North America into warring States is 
what they long to see. Already the English government is 
swift to hail us as belligerents. Already it refuses what it 
once so eagerly proffered, — an international treaty making 
privateering piracy. Soon it will let us fit out privateers 
in English ports. Yes, England is all right.” 

Here a slave-boy announced dinner, and they entered a 
smaller but lofty apartment, looking out on a garden, and 
having its two open windows pleasantly latticed with grape- 
vines. A handsome, richly dressed quadroon lady sat at the 
table. In introducing his young guest, Ratcliff* addressed her 
as Madame Yolney. 

Onslow, in his innocence, inquired after Mrs. Ratcliff. 

“ My wife is an invalid, and rarely quits her room,” said the 
host. 

The dinner was sumptuous, beginning with turtle-soup and 
ending with ices and fruits. The costliest Burgundies and 
Champagnes were uncorked, if only for a sip of their flavors. 
Madame Yolney, half French, was gracious and talkative, 
occasionally checking Ratcliff in his eating, and warning him 
to be prudent. At last cigars were brought on, and she left 
the room. Ratcliff rose and listened at the door, as if to be 
sure she had gone up-stairs. Then, walking on tiptoe, he 
resumed his seat. He alluded to the opera, — to the ballet, — 
to the subject of pretty women. 

“And apropos of pretty women,” he exclaimed, “let me 
show you a photograph of one I have in my pocket.” 

As he spoke, there was a rustling in the grape-vines at a 
window. He turned, but saw nothing. 

Onslow took the photograph, and exclaimed: “But this is 
astonishing ! I ’ve a copy of the same in my pocket.” 

“You surprise me, Captain. Do you know the original?” 

“ Quite well ; and I grant you she ’s beautiful.” 

Onslow did not notice the expression of Ratcliff’s face at 
this confession, but another did. Lifting a glass of Burgundy 


THE WOMAN WHO DELIBERATES IS LOST. 


285 


so as to help liis affectation of indifference, “ Confess now, 
Captain,” said Ratcliff, “ that you ’re a favorite ! That delicate 
mouth has been pressed by your lips; those ivory shoulders 
have known your touch.” 

“ O never ! never ! ” returned Onslow, with the emphasis of 
sincerity in his tone. “ You misjudge the character of the 
lady. She ’s a friend of Miss Tremaine, — is now passing 
a few days with her at the St. Charles. A lady wholly 
respectable. Miss Perdita Brown of St. Louis ! That rascal- 
ly photographer ought to be whipped for making money out 
of her beautiful picture.” 

“ Has she admirers in her train ? ” asked Ratcliff. 

“I know of but one beside myself.” 

“ Indeed ! And who is he ? ” 

“ Charles Kenrick has called on her with me.” 

“ By the way, Wigman tells me that Charles insulted the 
flag the other day.” 

“ Poh ! Wigman was so drunk he could n’t distinguish jest 
from earnest.” » 

“ So Robsop told me. But touching this Miss Brown, — is 
she as pretty as her photograph would declare ? ” 

“ It hardly does her justice. But her sweet face is the 
least of her charms. She talks well, — sings well, — plays 
well, — and, young as she is, has the bearing, the dignity, the 
grace, of the consummate lady.” 

Here there was another rustling, as if the grape-vine were 
pulled. Ratcliff started, went to the window, looked out, but, 
seeing nothing, remarked, “ The wind must be rising,” and 
returned to his seat. “ I ’ve omitted,” said he, “ to ask after 
your family ; are they well ? ” 

“ Yes ; they were in Austin when I heard from them last. 
My father, I grieve to say, goes with Hamilton and his set in 
opposition to the Southern movement. My brother, William 
Temple, is equally infatuated. My mother and sister of 
course acquiesce. So I ’in the only faithful one of my family.” 

“ You deserve a colonelcy for that.” 

“ Thank you. Is your clock right ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Then I must go. I’ve an engagement.” 


286 


PECULIAR. 


“ Sorry for it. Beware of Miss Brown. This is the day 
of Mars, not Venus. Good by.” 

When Onslow had gone, Ratcliff sat five minutes as if medi- 
tating on some plan. Then, drawing forth a pocket-book, he 
took out an envelope, — wrote on it, — reflected, — and wrote 
again. When he had finished, he ordered the carriage to 
be brought to the door. As he was passing through the hall, 
Madame Volney, from the stairs, asked where he was going. 

“ To the St. Charles, on political business.” 

“ Don’t be out late, dear,” said Madame. “ Let me see how 
you look. Your neck-tie is out of place. Let me fix it. There ! 
And your vest needs buttoning. So!” And as her delicate 
hands passed around his person, they slid unperceived into a 
side-pocket of his coat, and drew forth what he had just de- 
posited there. 

“ Bother ! That will do, Josephine,” grumbled Ratcliff. She 
released him with a kiss. He descended the marble steps of 
the house, entered a carriage, and drove off. 

Madame passed into the dining-room, the brilliant gas-lights 
of which ha<? not yet been lowered, and, opening the pocket- 
book, drew out several photographic cards, all containing one 
and the same likeness of a young and beautiful girl. As the 
quadroon scanned that fresh vernal countenance, that adorably 
innocent, but earnest and intelligent expression, those thick, 
wavy tresses, and that exquisitely moulded bust, her own hand- 
some face grew grim and ugly by the transmuting power of 
anger and jealousy. “ So, this is the game he ’s pursuing, is 
it?” she muttered. “This is what makes him. restive! Not 
politics, as he pretends, but this smooth-faced decoy ! Deep 
as you ’ve kept it, Ratcliff, I ’ve fathomed you at last ! ” 

Searching further among his papers, she found an envelope, 
on which certain memoranda were pencilled, and among them 
these : “ First see Tremaine. Arrange for seizure without scan- 
dal or noise. Early in morning call on Gentry , — have her 
prepared. Take Esha with us to help.” 

Hardly had Madame time to read this, when a carriage 
stopped before the door. Laying the pocket-book with its con- 
tents, as if undisturbed, on the table, she ran half-way up-stairs. 
Ratcliff re-entered, and, after looking about the hall, passed into 


THE WOMAN WHO DELIBERATES IS LOST. 


287 


the dining-room. “ All ! here it is ! ” she heard him say to the 
attendant ; “ I could have sworn I put it in my pocket.” He 
then left the house, and the carriage again drove off, — drove to 
the St. Charles, where Ratcliff had a long private interview 
with the pliable Tremaine. 

While it was going on, Laura and Clara sat in the drawing- 
room, waiting for company. Laura having disapproved of the 
costume in which Clara had first appeared, the latter now wore 
a plain robe of black silk ; and around her too beautiful neck 
Laura had put a collar, large enough to be called a cape, fast- 
ening it in front with an old-fashioned cameo pin. But how 
provoking ! This dress would insist oh being more becoming 
even than the other ! 

Yance was the earliest of the visitors. On being introduced 
to Clara, he bowed as if they had never met before. Then, 
seating himself by Laura, he devoted himself assiduously to 
her entertainment Clara turned over the leaves of a music- 
book, and took no part in the conversation. Yes ! It was plain 
that Yance was deeply interested in the superficial, but showy 
Laura. Well, what better could be expected of a man ? 

Once more was Laura summoned to the bed-side of her 
mother. “ How vexatious ! ” Regretfully she left the drawing- 
room. As soon as she had gone, Yance rose, and, taking a seat 
by Clara, offered her his hand. She returned its cordial press- 
ure. “ My dear young friend,” he said, “ tell me everything. 
What can I do for you ? ” 

O, that she might fling herself on that strong arm and tender 
heart ! That she might disclose to him her whole situation ! 
Impulses, eager and tumultuous, urged her to do this. Then 
there was a struggle as if to keep down the ready confession. 
Pride battled with the feminine instinct that claimed a protector. 

Wliat ! This man, on whom she had no more claim than on 
the veriest stranger, — should she put upon him the burden of 
her confidence ? This man who in one minute had whispered 
more flattering things in the ear of Laura than he had said to 
Clara during the whole of their acquaintance, — should she ask 
favors from him ? O, if he would, by look or word, but betray 
that he felt an interest in her beyond that of mere friendship ! 
But then came the frightful thought, “I am a slave ! ” And 


288 


PECULIAR. 


Clara shuddered to think that no honorable attachment between 
her and a gentleman could exist. 

“ What of that ? Surely I may claim from him the help 
which any true man ought to lend to a woman threatened with 
outrage. Stop there ! Does not the chivalry of the plantation 
reverse the notions of the old knight-errants, and give heed to 
no damsel in distress, unless she can show free papers ? Nay, 
will not the representative of the blood of all the cavaliers look 
calmly on, and smoke his cigar, while a woman is bound naked 
to a tree and scourged ? ” 

And then her mind ran rapidly over certain stories which a 
slave-girl, once temporarily hired by Mrs. Gentry, had told of 
the punishments of female slaves : how, for claiming too long, a 
respite from work after childbirth, they had been “ fastened up 
by their wrists to a beam, or to a branch of a tree, their feet 
barely touching the ground,” and in that position horribly 
scourged with a leather thong; perhaps, the father, brother, 
or husband of the victim being compelled to officiate as the 
scourger ! * 

“ But surely this man, whose very glance seems shelter and 
protection, — this true and generous gentleman , — must belong 
to a very different order of chivalry from that of the Davises, 
the Lees, and the Toombses. Yes ! I ’ll stake my life he ’s 
another kind of cavalier from those foul, obscene, and dastardly 
woman-whipping miscreants and scoundrels. Yes ! I ’ll com- 
ply with that gracious entreaty of his, ‘ Tell me everything ! ’ 
I ’ll confess all.” 

Her heart throbbed. She was on the point of uttering that 
one name, Ratcliff, — a sound that would have inspired Vance 
with the power and wisdom of an archangel to rescue her, — 
when there were voices at the door, and Laura entered, fol- 
lowed by Onslow. They brought with them a noise of talking 
and laughing. Soon Kenrick joined the party. 

The golden opportunity seemed to have slipped by ! 

To Kenrick’s gaze Clara never appeared so transcendent. 
But there was an unwonted paleness on her cheeks ; and what 
meant that thoughtful and serious air ? For a sensitive moral 
barometer commend us to a lover’s heart ! 

* Testimony of Mrs. Fanny Kemble to facts within her knowledge. 


THE WOMAN WHO DELIBERATES IS LOST. 289 

Of course there was music ; and Clara sang. 

“ What do you think of her voice ?” asked Laura of Vance. 

“ It justifies all your praises,” was the reply ; and then, see- 
ing that Clara was not in the mood for display, he took her 
place at the piano, and rattled away just as Laura requested. 
Onslow tried to engage Clara in conversation ; but a cloud, as 
if from some impending ill, was palpably over her. ' 

Kenrick sat by in silence, deaf to the brilliant music. 
Clara’s presence, with its subtle magnetism, had steeped his 
own thoughts in the prevailing hue of hers. Suddenly he 
turned to her, and whispered : “ You want help. WMt is 
it? Grant me the privilege of a brother. What can I do 
for you ? ” 

The glance Clara turned upon him was so full of thanks, 
so radiant with gratitude, that hope sprang in his heart. But 
before she could put her reply in words, Laura had come up, 
and taken her away to the piano for a concluding song. Clara 
gave them Longfellow’s “ Rainy Day ” to Dempster’s music. 

The little gilt clock over the mantel tinkled eleven. 

Vance rose to go, and said to Laura, “ May I call on Miss 
Brown to-morrow with some new music ? ” 

“ I ’ll answer for her, yes,” replied Laura. “We shall be at 
home any time after twelve.” 

The gentlemen all took leave. Onslow made his exit the 
last. A rose that had been fastened in Clara’s waist dropped 
on the floor. “ May I have it ? ” he asked, picking it up. 

« Why not ? I wish it were fresher. Good night ! ” And 
she put out her hand. Onslow eagerly pressed it ; but Clara, 
lifting his, said, “ May this hand never strike except for justice 
and human freedom ! ” 

“ Amen to that ! ” replied Onslow, before he well took in the 
entire meaning of what she had said. 

He hastened to rejoin his friends, following them through the 
corridor. He seemed to tread on air. “ I was the only one 
she offered to shake hands with ! ” he exultingly soliloquized. 

The three parted, after an interchange of good nights. Both 
Onslow and Kenrick betook themselves to their rooms, each 
with no desire for other companionship than his own rose- 
colored dreams. 


13 


s 


290 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XXX 


A FEMININE VAN AMBURGH. 


“ She who ne’er answers till a husband cools, 

Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules.” — Pope. 



IHE morning after the dinner, Madame Volney rose a 1 


± sunrise, and was stealing on tiptoe into ber dressing- 
room, when Ratcliff, always a late riser, grumbled, “ What ’s 
the matter ? ” 

“There’s to be an. early church-service,” she replied. 

“Bah! You’re always going to church!” 

The quadroon made no reply, but gently retired, dressed, and 
glided out of the house into the open air. On through the yet 
deserted streets she swiftly passed. A white fog brooded over 
the city. Heavy-winged sea-birds were slowly making their 
way overhead to the marshes of Lake Ponchartrain, or still 
farther out to the beaches of the Gulf. The sound of drums 
and fifes in the distance occasionally broke the matutinal still- 
ness. The walls of the streets were covered with placards of 
meetings of volunteer companies, — of the Wigman Rifles, the 
MacMahon Guards, the Beauregard Lancers, the Black Flag 
Invincibles. 

After half an hour’s walk, the quadroon paused before a 
house, on the door of which was a brass plate presenting the 
words, — “ Mrs. Gentry’s Seminary for Young Ladies.” While 
she looked and hesitated, a black girl came up from some steps 
leading into the basement, and with a mop and pail of water 
proceeded to wash the sidewalk. 

“ Is Esha in ? ” asked the quadroon. 

“ Yes, missis, Esha am in. Jes you go down dem steps inter 
de kitchen, an’ dar you ’ll fine Esha, sure.” And taking the 
direction pointed out, Madame found herself in the presence of 
a large, powerfully built mulatto woman, who was engaged in 
preparations for breakfast. 


A FEMININE VAN AMBUKGH. 


291 


“Is this Esha?” 

“ Yes, missis, dis am nob’dy else.” 

“ Esha, I want a few minutes’ talk with you.” 

“ Take a char, den, missis, and ’scuse my looks.” 

“ You look like a good woman, Esha, so no matter for dress.” 

“ Tahnk yer, missis. Esha ’s like de res’, — not too good, — 
but nebdeless dar ’s wuss folks dan she.” 

“ Esha, who is this young girl Mr. Ratcliff is after ? ” 

Esha’s eyes snapped, and she looked sharply at her visitor. 
“Why you want ter know?” she asked. 

“ Are you a slave, Esha ? ” 

“ Yes, missis, I ’se born a slabe, — hab libd a slabe, an’ ’spek 
to die a slabe.” 

“I too am a slave, Esha. I belonged to old Etienne La 
Harpe, who died six years ago. Though I had had two chil- 
dren, one by him and one by his son, the old man’s widow sent 
me to the auction-block. I was sold to the highest bidder. I 
was bought by Mr. Carberry Ratcliff.” 

“ All ! by him ? by him ? ” muttered Esha. 

“ I was handsome. He made me his favorite. I Ve been 
faithful to him. Even his wife, poor thing, blesses the day I 
came into the house. She would have died long ago but for 
my care. The slaves, too, come to me with their sorrows. I 
do what I can for their relief. I am not, by nature, bad 
woman. I would continue to serve this man and his house- 
hold.” 

“ Do yer lub him, — dis Massa Ratcliff? ” 

“ That ’s a hard question, Esha. He has treated me like a 
lady. I am practically at the head of his house. I have a 
carriage at my command. He gives me all the money I ask 
for. He prizes me for my prudence and good temper. I love 
him so far as this : I should hate the woman who threatened to 
step between me and him. Now tell me who this girl is whose 
photograph he has.” 

“ She, missis ? She am a slabe too.” 

“ She a slave ? Whose slave ? ” 

“ She ’longs to Massa Ratcliff!” 

“ And he has kept it a secret from me ! ” 

Esha, like most slaves, was a quick judge of character. She 


292 


PECULIAR. 


had an almost intuitive perception of shams. Convinced of the 
quadroon’s sincerity, she now threw a cushion on the floor, and, 
seating herself on it after the Oriental fashion, frankly told the 
whole story of the child Clara, and disclosed the true nature 
of her own relations to Ratcliff. When she had concluded, 
Madame Yolney impulsively kissed her. 

“ And are you sure,” she asked, “ quite sure that little 
Darling, as you call her, will resist Ratcliff to the iast ? ” 

“ Dat chile will sooner die dan gib up ter dat ole man. 
What you ’spose she went out ter buy dat day I met her last ? 
Wall, missis, she buyed a dagger.” 

“ Good ! I love her ! ” cried Madame Yolney, with flushed 
cheeks. “ But. Esha, do you know where she is now ? ” 

“Yes, missis ; but I tinlrl better not tell eb’n you, — ’cause 
you see — ” 

“ She ’s with Miss Tremaine, at the St. Charles ! ” 

“ De Lord help us ! How ye r know dat, missis ? ” cried 
Esha, alarmed. “ Do Massa Ratcliff know ’bout it ? ” 

“ He knows it all, and has made his preparations for seizing 
the girl this very day. He ’ll be here this morning to give you 
your directions. Now, Esha, don’t make a blunder. Don’t 
let him see that you ’re the girl’s friend. Say nothing of my 
visit. I’ll tell you what I suspect: Ratcliff knows his wife 
can’t ltve three months longer. He has never had a child by 
her. All his children are mulattoes and illegitimate. The 
desire of his heart is for a lawful heir. He means — Are 
you sure the girl is white?” 

“I tell yer, missis, whoebber sold her, fust stained her 
skin to put up de price. Should n’t be ’stonished if dat chile 
was kidnapped.” 

Madame Yolney looked at her watch. “Esha,” she said, 
“ you ’ll be employed by Ratcliff to help secure her person. If, 
when he comes to you, the ribbon on his straw hat is green, do 
as he tells you. Should the ribbon be black, tell him to wait 
ten minutes. Then do you run round the comer to Aurora 
Street, where you ’ll see a carriage with a white handkerchief 
held out at the right-hand window. You ’ll find me there. 
We ’ll drive to the St. Charles, and take the girl with us 
somewhere out of Ratcliff’s reach. Can you remember all 
I’ve told you?” 


A FEMININE VAN AMBURGH. 


293 


“ Ebry word ob it, missis ! Tabnk de Lord fur sendin’ yer. 
"Watch Massa Ratcliff sharp. Fix him sure, missis, — fix 
him sure ! ” 

“ Trust me, Esha ! He seizes no young girl to-day, unless I 
let him. But be very prudent. You may need money.” 

“ No, missis. No pay fur tellin’ de troof.” 

“ But you may need it for the child’s sake.” 

“ O yis, missis. I ’ll take it fur de chile, sure.” 

Madame Volney placed in her hands thirty dollars in gold, 
then left the house, and, hailing a carriage at a neighboring 
stand, told the driver where to take her. “ Double speed, 
double fare ! ” she added. In ten minutes she was at home. 

Ratcliff had not yet come down. He had rung the bell, and 
given orders for an early breakfast. Madame went up to her 
dressing-room, and put on her most becoming morning attire. 
We have called her a quadroon ; but her complexion was of 
that clear golden hue, mixed with olive and a dash of carna- 
tion, which so many Southern amateurs prefer to the pure red 
and white of a light-haired Anglo-Saxon. 

When Ratcliff came down, he complimented her on her good 
looks, and kissed her. 

“ I ’ve been to confession,” she said, as she touched the tap 
of a splendid silver urn, and let hot water into the cups. 

“ And what have you been confessing, Josy ? ” 

“ I ’ve been confessing how very foolish I ’ve been the last 
few months.” 

“ Foolish in what, Josephine ? ” 

“ Foolish in my jealousy of yow.” 

“ Jealousy? What cause have I given you for jealousy? 
I ’ve been too much bothered about public matters to have 
time to think of any woman but you.” 

“ That ’s partly true. But don’t I know what you most 
desire of earthly things ? ” 

“ Of course ! You know I desire the success of the South- 
ern Confederacy, corner-stone and all.” 

“ No, not that. You covet one thing even more than that.” 

“ Indeed ! What is it ? ” 

“ A legitimate child who may inherit your wealth, and trans- 
mit your name.” 


294 


PECULIAR. 


“ Yes, I ’d like a child. But we must take things as they 
come along. You must n’t be jealous because now and then I 
may have dropped a hint of regret that I ’ve no direct heir to 
my estate.” 

“ You ’ve not confined yourself to hints. You r ve been prov- 
ident in act as well as in thought.” 

“ What the deuce do you mean ? ” 

“ Don’t be angry when I tell you, you have n’t planned a 
plan, the last three months, of which I have n’t been aware.” 

“ Well, I ’ve always thought you the keenest woman of my 
acquaintance ; but I ’d like to have it put through my hair 
what you’re exactly driving at now. What is it?” 

“ This : I know your scheme in regard to Miss Murray, and, 
what is more, I highly approve of it.” 

“ You ’re the Devil ! ” exclaimed Ratcliff, starting up from 
his seat. Then, seeing Josephine’s unaffected smile and evi- 
dent good humor, he sat down. 

“ At first I was a little chagrined,” she said, “ especially when 
I found Mademoiselle so very pretty. But I ’ve reflected much 
on it since, and talked with -my confessor about it.” 

“ The deuce you have ! Talked with your confessor, eh ? ” 

“Yes, with my confessor. And the result is, that, so far 
from opposing you in your plan, I ’ve concluded to give it my 
support.” 

“ And what do you understand to be my plan ? ” 

“ Perhaps ’t is vague even in your own mind as yet. But 
I ’ll tell you what I mean. Your wife is not likely to live 
many weeks longer. You ’ll inherit from her a large estate. 
You’ll wish to marry again, and this time with a view to 
offspring. Both taste and policy will lead you to choose a 
young and accomplished woman. Who more suitable than 
Miss Murray ? ” 

“ Why, Josephine, she ’s a slave ! ” 

“ A slave, is she ? Look me in the face and tell me, if you 
can, you believe she has a drop of African blood in her veins. 
No ! That child must have been kidnapped. And you have 
often suspected as much.” 

“ Where the Devil — Confound' the woman ! ” muttered 
Ratcliff, half frightened at what looked like clairvoyance. 


A FEMININE VAN AMBURGH. 


295 


“Yes,” she continued, “her parents must have been of 
gentle blood. Look at her hands and feet. Hear her speak.” 

“ What is there yo-u don’t find out, Josy ? ” exclaimed Rat- 
cliff. “ Here you tell me things that have been working in my 
mind, which I was hardly aware of myself till you mentioned 
them ! ” 

“ O, I Ve known all about your search for the girl. ’T was 
not till after a struggle I could reconcile it to my mind to lend 
you my aid. But this was what I thought : He will soon be a 
widower. He will desire to marry ; not that he does not love 
his Josy — ” 

“ Yes, Josy, you ’re right there ; you ’re a jewel of a woman. 
Such devilish good common sense ! Go on.” 

“ He would marry, not that he does not love his Josy, but 
because he wants a legitimate child of his own. That ’s but 
natural and proper. Why should I oppose it, and thus give 
him cause to cast me out from his affections ? Why not give 
him new reason for attachment, by showing him I am capable 
of a sacrifice for his sake ? Yes, he will love me none the less 
for letting him see that without one jealous pang I can help 
him to a young and beautiful wife.” 

“ But, Josy, would you really recommend my marrying this 
girl?” 

“ Why not ? Where will you find her equal ? ” 

“ But just think of it, — she was sold to me at public auction 
as a slave.” 

“ Yes, and the next day Mrs. Gentry wrote you that the 
coloring stuff had washed off from her skin, and she was whiter 
than any one in the school. You wrote not a word in reply. 
But did not the thought occur to you, the child has been kid- 
napped ? Of course it did ! In this great city of rogues and 
murderers, did you not consider there were plenty of men 
capable of such an act? Deny it if you can.” 

“ Josy, you ’re enough to unsteady a man’s nerves. How 
did you discover there was such a being as Miss Murray ? and 
how did you get out of my mind what I had thought about the 
kidnapping ? and how, what I myself had hardly dreamed of, 
4he idea, namely, of making her my wife ? ” 

“When one loves,” replied Josephine, “one is quick to 


293 


PECULIAR. 


watch, and sharp to detect. At first, as I Ve told you, I 
was disposed to be jealous. But reflection soon convinced me 
’t would be for your happiness to take this young person, now 
in the false position of a slave, and educate her for your wife. 
Even if the world should know her story, what would you 
care ? You ’re above all social criticism. Besides, would it 
not be comical for our swarthy Creole ladies to snuff at such a 
beautiful blonde, whose very presence would give the lie to all 
that malice could insinuate as to her birth ? ” 

“ O, I don’t care for what society may say. I ’m out of the 
reach of its sneers. And what you urge, Josy, is reasonable, — 
very. Yes, she ’s a remarkably fine girl, and I ’ve certainly 
taken a strong fancy to her. Some of our first young men are 
already deep in love with her. Of course she ’d be eternally 
grateful, if I were to emancipate her and make her my wife.” 

Josephine could hardly repress a smile of triumph to see this 
thorough-bred tyrant, who knew no law but his own will, thus 
falling into the snare she was so delicately spreading for him. 
Something of the satisfaction Van Amburgh might have felt 
when his tiger succumbed, spread its glow over her cheeks. 
Never in his coarse calculations had Ratcliff thought of showing 
Clara any further mercy than he had shown to the humblest 
of his concubines. And yet Josephine, by her apt suggestions, 
had half persuaded him, little given as he was to introspective 
analysis, that the idea of making the girl his wife had origi- 
nated in his own mind ! 

“ Did he keep the whole story from her because he supposed 
Josy would be jealous ? ” asked the quadroon, with a caress. 

“ Why, yes, Josy ; to tell the truth, I thought there ’d have 
to be a scene sure, when you found out I ’d been educating 
such a girl with a view to her taking your place some time. 
So I kept dark. But you ’re a trump, — you are ! I should 
n’t wonder if you could acquire the same influence over her 
that you now have over my wife.” 

“ Easily ! ” said Josephine. “ I ’ve seen her. I like her. 
I know we should agree. When she learns it was my wish 
you should emancipate and marry her, she will regard me as 
her friend. I can teach her not to be jealous of me.” 

“ Capital ! ” exclaimed Ratcliff. “ Josy can remain where 


A FEMININE VAN AMBURGH. 


297 


she is in the family. Josy will not have to abdicate. There ’ll 
be no unpleasant row between the two women. The whole 
thing can be harmoniously managed.” 

“ Why not, Carberry ? And let me say ’t would be folly 
to seize this girl rudely, wounding her pride and rousing her 
resentment. The true way is to decoy her gently till you get 
her into your possession, and then secure her by such means 
is I can suggest.” 

“ Hang me, but you ’re right again, Josy ! I had thought 
)f carrying her off tliis very day.” 

“ Yes, I supposed so.” 

“ Supposed so ? Where in the name of all the devils did 
you get your information ? For there ’s but one person beside 
myself who knows anything about it.” 

“ And that ’s Mr. Tremaine ! ” 

“ So it is, by Jove ! How did you know it ? ” 

“ I put this and that together, and drew an inference. You 
mean to place her again, for the present, at Mrs. Gentry’s.” 

“ True ! That was my plan. But I had n’t mentioned it to 
a soul.” 

“ What of that ? Where one loves, one has such insight ! 
But is there any one at Mrs. Gentry’s on whom you can rely 
to keep watch of the girl ? ” 

“ Yes, there ’s an old slave-woman, — Esha. She has a 
grudge against the little miss, and is n’t likely to be too in- 
dulgent.” 

“ But why, Carberry, would you take the little miss to Mrs. 
Gentry’s rather than to your own house ? I see ! You thought 
I would be in the way ; that I would be jealous of her ! Con- 
fess!” 

“ Yes, Josy, I did n’t think anything else.” 

“ Well, now, let me plan for you : first, I, wdth Esha, will 
call on her. Esha can easily persuade her that the best thing 
she can do will be to come with us to this house. We ’ll have 
the blue room ready for her. It being between two other 
rooms, and having no other exit than through them, she will 
not have another chance to abscond. Esha would perhaps be 
a suitable person to keep guard. But then probably Mrs. Gen- 
try would n’t part "with Esha.” 


298 


PECULIAR. 


“ Bali ! Gentry will have to do as I order, or see her school 
broken up as an Abolition concern. Your plan strikes me 
favorably, Josy ; but what if the girl should refuse to accom- 
pany you ? ” 

“We can have an officer close by to apply to in case of 
need.” 

“ Of course ! What a woman you are for plotting ! ” 

“ Yes, Carberry, give me carte blanche to act for you, and 
I ’ll have her here before one o’clock. But there ’s a condi- 
tion, Carberry.” 

“ Name it, Josy.” 

“ It is, that so long as your present wife lives, you shall keep 
strictly aloof from the maiden, not even taking the liberty of a 
kiss. Don’t you see why ? She has been religiously brought 
up. She is pure, with affections disengaged. Would it be for 
your future interests as a husband to undo all that has been 
done for her moral education ? Surely no ! You mean to 
make her your wife ; and the wife of Carberry Ratcliff must 
be intemerate ! ” 

“ Right ! right ! A thousand times right ! ” exclaimed the 
debauchee, his pride getting the ascendency. 

“For the present, then,” continued the quadroon, “you, a 
married man, must hardly look on her. Consent to this, and 
I ’ll take the whole trouble of the affair off your hands. I ’ll 
bring the girl here, and so mould her that she will be prepared 
to be your lawful wife as soon as decency may permit.” 

Ratcliff rose from the table, and paced the floor. Under 
Josephine’s way of presenting the subject, what had seemed 
rather an embarrassing job began to assume a new and attrac- 
tive aspect. How well-judged the whole arrangement! The 
idea of elevating Clara to the exalted position of successor to 
the present Mrs. Ratcliff was fast becoming more and more in- 
viting to his contemplation. Wealth in a wife would be of no 
account. He would have enough of his own. Family rank was 
desirable ; but did not the girl give every sign of high blood ? 
It would not be surprising if, in fact, she were of a stock almost 
equal to his own in gentility. Besides, would not he, a Ratcliff, 
carry, lodged in his own person, sufficient dignity of pedigree 
to cover the genealogical shortcomings of a wife ? 


A FEMININE VAN AMBURGH. 


299 


The fact that Onslow and Kenrick admired her did muck to 
enhance the girl’s value in his eyes ; and he could readily see 
how it would be for Madame Volney’s interests, since she knew 
he meant to marry again, to have the training, to a certain 
extent, of his future wife, and put her under a seeming obliga- 
tion. And so the quadroon’s protestations that she had con- 
quered all jealousy on the subject seemed to him the most 
natural thing in the world. 

“Well, Josy,” said he, after a silence of some minutes, “I 
accept your condition ; I give the promise you demand.” 

“ Honor bright ? ” 

“ Yes ; you ’ll have me close under your eyes. I commit the 
girl entirely to your keeping. I will myself go at once and see 
Esha, and send her to you here. I ’ll also see Tremaine, and 
shut up his mouth with a plug that will be effectual. The fel- 
low owes me money. Then you can take Eshq^in the carriage, 
and go and put your plan in execution.” 

“ Good ! You ’ve decided wisely, Carberry. Shall I order 
the carriage for you ? ” 

“ Yes. I ’ll send it back to you with Esha, and then myself 
go on foot to the St. Charles to see Tremaine.” 

Ratcliff passed out of the breakfast-room, and the quadroon 
went to the hat-closet in the hall, and removed the straw hat 
with a black ribbon on it, leaving the one distinguished by a 
green band. She then rang and ordered the carriage. 


300 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

ONE OF THE INSTITUTIONS. 

“ Small service is true service while it lasts ; 

Of friends, however humble, scorn not one.” — Wot dsworth. 

O N being bought at the auction-block by Ratcliff, and intro- 
duced into his household, Josephine Volney, the quad- 
roon, had devoted herself to the health of his wife from purely 
selfish motives. But in natures not radically perverse, benefi- 
cence cannot long be divorced from benevolence. Josephine 
believed her iqjprests lay in preventing as long as possible a 
second marriage: hence, at first, her sedulous care of the 
invalid wife. 

Those who know anything of society in the Slave States are 
well aware that concubinage (one of the institutions of the in- 
stitution) is there, in many conspicuous instances, as patiently 
acquiesced in by wives as polygamy is in Utah. Mrs. Ratcliff 
had, at first, almost adored her husband. Very unattractive, 
personally, she had yet an affectionate nature, and one of her 
most marked traits was gratitude for kindness. Soon Ratcliff 
dropped the mask by which he had won her ; and she, instead 
of lamenting over her mistake, accepted as a necessary evil 
the fact of his relations to the handsome slave. The latter 
attempted no deception, but conducted herself as discreetly as 
any woman, so educated, could have done, under such compul- 
sory circumstances. 

Mrs. Ratcliff was soon touched by Josephine’s obvious solici- 
tude to minister to her happiness and health. The slave-girl’s 
childlike frankness begot frankness on the part of the wife. 
Seeing that their interests were identical, each was gradually 
drawn to the other, till a sincere ancf tender attachment was 
the result. The wife was made aware of her husband’s calcu- 
lations in regard to a second marriage ; and Josephine found in 
that wife a faithful and crafty ally, too deep, with all her shal- 
lowness, to be fathomed by the husband. 


ONE OF THE INSTITUTIONS. 


301 


No sooner had Ratcliff quitted the house, on the morning of 
the breakfast described, than Josephine hurried to the invalid’s 
room. A poor diminutive Creole lady, with wrinkled skin, 
darker even than the quadroon’s, and with one shoulder higher 
than the other, she sat, with a white crape-shawl wrapped 
round her, in a large arm-chair. Her face, as Josephine en- 
tered, lighted up with a smile of welcome that for a moment 
seemed to transfigure even those withered and pain-stricken 
features. In half an hour Josephine had put her in possession 
of all the developments of the last two days, and of her own 
plans for controlling the movements of Ratcliff in regard to the 
young white woman supposed to be his slave. 

With absorbed interest the invalid listened to the details, and 
approved warmly of what Josephine had planned. Her femi- 
nine curiosity was pleased with the idea of having, in her own 
house and under her own eye, this young person whom Ratcliff 
had presumed to think of as a second wife ; while the thought 
of baffling him in his selfish schemes sent a shock of pleasure 
to her heart. Furthermore, the excitement seemed to brace 
up her frame anew, and to ruffle into breezy action the torpid 
tide of her monotonous existence. 

Esha was announced and introduced. A new and refreshing 
incident for the invalid ! And now, if Esha had needed any 
further confirmation of the quadroon’s story, it was amply 
afforded. Josephine’s project for the present security of Rat- 
cliff’s white slave was discussed and approved. 

The carriage was waiting at the door. “ Go now,” said Mrs. 
Ratcliff, “ and be sure you bring the girl right up to see me.” 

In less than twenty minutes afterwards, as Clara, lonely and 
anxious, sat in Tremaine’s drawing-room, a servant entered and 
told her that a colored woman was in Number 13, waiting to 
see her. Supposing it could be no other than Esha, she fol- 
lowed the servant to the room, and, on entering, recoiled at sight 
of a stranger. For a moment the quadroon was so absorbed 
in scanning the girl’s whole personal outline, that there was 
silence on both sides. 

“ What ’s wanting ? ” asked Clara, half dreading some trick. 

“ Please close the door, and I ’ll tell you,” was the reply. 
Clara did as she was requested. “ Have you any objections to 
locking the door ? ” continued the quadroon. 


PECULIAR. 


302 

u None whatever,” replied Clara, and she locked it. 

“ You fear I may be here as an agent of Mr. Ratcliff,” said 
Josephine. 

“Ah! am I betrayed ? ” cried Clara, instinctively carrying 
her hand to her bosom, where lay the weapon she had bought. 
The quadroon noticed the gesture, and smiled. “ Sit down,” 
she said, “ and do not consider me an enemy until I have 
proved myself such. Listen to what I have to propose.” 
Clara took a seat where she could be within reach of the door, 
and then pointed to the sofa. 

“ Yes, I will sit here,” said the quadroon, complying with the 
tacit invitation. “ Now, listen, dear young lady, to a proposi- 
tion I am authorized to make. Mr. Ratcliff will very soon be 
a widower. His wife cannot survive three months. He has 
seen you, and likes you. He is willing to lift y«u from slavery 
to freedom, — from poverty to wealth, — from obscurity to 
grandeur, — on one very easy condition ; this, namely : that, as 
soon after his wife’s death as propriety will allow, you will 
yourself become Mrs. Ratcliff.” 

“ Never ! ” exclaimed Clara, the blood flaming up like red 
auroras over neck, face, and brow. 

“ But consider, my dear. You will, in the first place, be 
forthwith treated with all the respect and consideration due to 
Mr. Ratcliff’s future bride. As soon as he has you secure as 
his wife, he will emancipate you, — make you a free woman. 
Think of that ! Mr. Ratcliff is supposed to be worth at least 
five millions. You will at once have such a purse as no other 
young woman in the city can boast. Now why not be reasona- 
ble ? Why not say yes to the proposition ? ” 

“ Never ! never ! ” cried Clara, carrying her hand again to 
her breast with a gesture she thought significant only to herself. 

Josephine rose and felt of the bosom of Clara’s dress till she 
distinguished the weapon of which Esha had spoken. Then a 
smile, so sincere as to forbid suspicion, broke over the quad- 
roon’s face, and she exclaimed : “ Let me kiss you ! Let me 
hug you ! ” And having given vent to her satisfaction in an 
embrace, she unlocked the door, and there stood Esha. 

“ What does it all mean, Esha ? ” asked Clara, bewildered. 

“ It mean, darlin’, dat Massa Ratcliff hab tracked you to dis 


ONE OF THE INSTITUTIONS. 


303 


ye re place, an’ we two women mean to pull de wool ober his 
eyes, so he can’t do yer no harm no how. You jes do what 
we want yer to, and we ’ll bodder him so he sha’n’t know his 
head ’s his own.” 

Josephine then communicated all the facts that had come 
to her knowledge in regard to Ratcliff’s pursuit of Clara, to- 
gether with her own conversation with him that morning, and 
the plan she had contrived for his discomfiture. “ As soon,” 
she said, “ as such an opportunity offers that I can be sure you 
can be put beyond his reach, I will supply you with money, 
and help you to escape.” 

Truth beamed from her looks, and made itself musical in her 
tones, and Clara gratefully pressed her hand. 

“ And shall I have Esha with me ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes ; and Mrs. Ratcliff, though an invalid, will also be- 
friend you. ’T will be strange indeed if we four women can’t 
defeat one man.” 

“ But I shall have all the slave-hunters in the Confederacy 
after me if I try to get away.” 

“ Do not fear. We have golden keys that open many doors 
of escape.” 

Clara did not hesitate. She had faith in Esha’s quickness, 
as well as in her own, to detect insincerity. And so she was 
persuaded that her safest present course would be to go boldly 
into the house of the very man she had most cause to dread ! 

It was agreed that the three should leave together at once. 
Clara went to her sleeping-room, and there, encountering the 
chambermaid, made her a present of two dollars, and sent her 
off. Laura was absent at the dressmaker’s. 

“ I would like,” said Clara, “ to find out at the bar what 
charge has been made for my stay here, and pay it.” 

“ Let me do it for you,” suggested the quadroon. 

« If you would be so kind ! ” replied Clara. “ Here are 
fifteen dollars. I don’t think it can come to more than that.” 

Without taking the money, Josephine left the room. -In five 
minutes she returned with a receipted bill, made out against 
“Miss Tremaine’s friend.” This receipt Clara enclosed, to- 
gether with a five-dollar gold-piece, in a letter to Laura, con- 
taining these words : — 


304 


PECULIAR. 


“ I thank you for all the hospitality I have received at your 
hands. Enclosed you will find my hotel bill receipted, also 
five dollars for the use of such dresses as I have worn. With 
best wishes for your mother’s restoration to health and for your 
own welfare, I bid you good by. P. B.” 

The three women now passed through a side entrance to the 
street where the carriage was in waiting ; and before half an 
hour had elapsed, Clara was established in the blue room of the 
house in Lafayette Square, — the invalid lady had seen her 
and approved, — and Esha, like a faithful hound, was follow- 
ing her steps, keeping watch, as Ratcliff had directed, though 
for other reasons than he had imagined. 

Hardly had Clara left the hotel, before Vance called. He 
had come, fully resolved to wring from her, if possible, the 
secret of her trouble. Much to his disappointment, he learned 
she had gone and would not return. He called a second time, 
and saw Miss Tremaine. That young lady, warned and threat- 
ened by her father, now displayed such a ready and facile gift 
for lying, as would have highly distinguished her in diplomacy. 

“ Only think of it, Mr. Vance,” said the intrepid Laura, u it 
turns out that Miss Brown has been having a love affair with 
one of her father’s clerks, a low-born Yankee. He followed 
her to New Orleans, — managed to send a letter to her at Mrs. 
Gentry’s; Perdita went forth to find him, but, failing in her 
search, came to claim hospitality of me. This morning her 
father — a very decent man he seems to be — arrived from 
Mobile and took her, fortunately before she had been able to 
meet her lover.” 

The story was plausible. Vance, however, looked the narra- 
tor sharply and searchingly in the face. She met his glance 
with an expression beaming with innocence and candor. It 
was irresistible. The strong man surrendered all suspicion, 
and gave in “beat.” 


A DOUBLE VICTORY. 


305 



CHAPTER XXXII. 
A DOUBLE VICTORY. 


“ Whence it is manifest that the soul, speaking in a natural sense, loseth nothing by 
Death, but is a very considerable gainer thereby. For she does not only possess as much 
body as before, with as full and solid dimensions, but has that accession cast in, of having 
this body more invigorated with life and motion than it Was formerly.” — Henry More , 
A. D. 1659. 

“ No, sure, ’t is ever youth there ! Time and Death 
Follow our flesh no more ; and that forced opinion, 

That spirits have no sexes, I believe not. 

There must be love, — there is love ! ” 

Beaumont and Fletcher. 

“ T SHALL be jealous of this little lady if you go on at this 
rate,” said Madame Volney to Mrs. Ratcliff, a week after 
Clara had been established in the house. 

“ Never fear that I shall love you less, my dear Josephine,” 
replied the invalid. Then, pointing to her heart, she added : 
“ I Ve a place here big enough for both of you. I only wish 
’twere in better repair.” 

“ Have you had those sharp throbbings to-day ? ” 

“Not badly. You warn me against excitement. I some- 
times think I’m better under it. Certainly I’ve improved 
since Esha and Darling have been here. What should I do 
now without Darling to play and read to me ? What a touch 
she has ! And what a voice ! And then her selection of music 
and of books is so good. By the way, she promised to trans- 
late a story for me from the German. I wonder if she has it 
finished. Go ask her.” 

The answer was brought by Clara herself, and Josephine left 
the two together. Yes, Clara had written out the story. It 
was called Zu Spat, or “ Too Late,” and was by an anony- 
mous author. Clara read aloud from it. She had read about 
ten minutes, when the following passage occurred : — 

“ Selfish and superstitious, the Baroness put out of her mind 
the irksome thought of making her will; but now, struck 
speechless by disease, and paralyzed in her hands, she was 

x 


306 


PECULIAR. 


impotent to communicate her wishes. Her agonized effort to 
say something in her last moments undoubtedly related to a will. 
But she died intestate, and all her large estate passed into the 
hands of a comparative stranger. And thus the humble friends 
whose kindness had saved and prolonged her life were left to 
struggle with the world for a meagre support. If in the new 
condition to which she had passed through death she could 
look back on her selfishness and its consequences, what poig- 
nant regrets must have been hers ! ” 

“ Read that passage again,” said Mrs. Ratcliff ; adding, after 
Clara had complied, “ You need n’t read any more now.” 

That evening the wife summoned the husband to an inter- 
view. Somewhat surprised at the unusual command, Ratcliff 
made his appearance and took a seat at her side. His manner 
was that of a man who thinks no woman can resist him, and 
that his transparent cajoleries are the proper pabulum for her 
weak intellect, — poor thing ! 

“ Well, my peerless one, what is it ? ” he asked. 

“ I wish to talk with you, Ratcliff, about this white slave of 
yours. What do you think of her?” 

“ Think of her ? Nothing ! I ’ve given no thought to the 
subject. I’ve hardly looked at her.” 

“ Lie Number 1,” thought the invalid, looking him in the 
face, but betraying no distrust in her expression. 

The truth was, that Ratcliff, for the first time in his life, was 
under the power of a sentiment which, if not love, was all that 
there was in his nature akin to it. Even at political meetings 
his thoughts would stray from the public business, from the ful- 
minations of “ last-ditch ” orators and curb-stone generals, and 
revert to that youthful and enchanting figure. True, Josephine 
rigidly exacted conformity to the conditions that kept him aloof 
from all communication with the girl. But Ratcliff, through 
the window-blinds, would now and then see her, in the pride 
of youth and beauty, walking with Esha in the garden. He 
would hear her songs, too. And once, — when he thought no 
one knew it, — though the quadroon had her eye on him, — • 
he overheard Clara’s conversation. “ She has mind as well 
as beauty,” thought he. 

And that brilliant and dainty creature was his, — his / He 


A DOUBLE VICTORY. 


307 


could, if he chose, marry her to the blackest of his slaves. Of 
course he could ! There was no indignity he could not put 
upon her, under the plea of upholding his rights as a master. 
Had he not once proved it in another case, on his own planta- 
tion ? And who had ever dared raise a voice against the just 
assertion of his rights ? Truly, any such rash malcontents, 
opening their lips, would have been in danger of being ducked 
as Abolitionists! 

Patience ! Yes, Josephine was right in her scheme of keep- 
ing the young girl secluded from his too fascinating society. 
Not a hint must the maiden have of the favor with which he 
regarded her, — not an intimation, until the present Mrs. Rat- 
cliff should considerately “ step out.” Then — Well, what 
then ? Why, then an end to hopes deferred and desires unful- 
filled ! Then an immediate private marriage, to be followed 
by a public one, after a decent interval. 

Every secret device and cherished anticipation, meanwhile, 
of that imperious nature was understood and analyzed by the 
quadroon. She felt a vindictive satisfaction in seeing him riot 
in calculations which she would task her best energies to bailie. 
Esha’s stories of his conduct to Estelle had withered the last 
bloom of affection which Josephine’s heart had cherished to- 
wards him. 

“I’m glad you’re so indifferent to this white slave,” said 
Mrs. Ratcliff to her husband. 

“ And why should you be glad, my pet ? ” 

“ Because, Ratcliff, I want you to give her to me.” 

Staggered by the suddenness of the request, and puzzled for 
an answer, he replied : “But she may prove a very valuable 
piece of property. There’s many a man who would pay ten 
thousand dollars for her, two or three years hence.” 

“ Well, if you don’t want to give her, then sell her to me. 
I’ll pay you twenty thousand dollars for her.” 

“ You shall have her for nothing, my dear,” said Ratcliff, 
after reflecting that the slave would still be virtually his, inas- 
much as no conveyance of her could be made by his wife with- 
out his consent. 

Detecting the trap, the wife at once replied : “ Thank you, 
dear husband. This generosity is so like you ! Can she be 
freed?” 


308 PECULIAK. 

✓ 

“ No. There are recent State laws against emancipation. 
It was found there were too many weak-minded persons, who, 
in their last moments, beginning to have scruples about slave- 
holding, would t hin k to purchase heaven by emancipating their 
slaves. The example was bad, and productive of discontent 
among those left in bondage.” 

“ Well, then, Ratcliff, there ’s one little form you must con- 
sent to. The title-deed must be vested in Mr. Winslow.” 

Ratcliff started as if recoiling from a pitfall. The remark 
brought home to his mind the disagreeable consideration that 
there was nearly half a million of dollars which ought to come 
to his wife, but which was absolutely in the keeping and under 
the control of Simon Winslow. It happened in this wise: 
The father of Mrs. Ratcliff, old Kittler, not having that entire 
faith in his son-in-law which so distinguished a member of the 
chivalry as the South Carolinian ought to have commanded, 
gave into the hands of Winslow a large sum of money, relying 
solely upon his honor to use it in loco parentis for the benefit 
of the lady. But there were no legal restrictions imposed 
upon Simon as to the disposition of the property, and if he had 
chosen to give or throw it away, or keep it himself, he might 
have done it with impunity. 

Winslow acted much as he would have done if Mrs. Ratcliff 
had been his own daughter. He invested the money solely for 
her ultimate benefit and disposal, seeing that her husband al- 
ready had millions which she had brought him. Ratcliff, how- 
ever, regarded as virtually his the money in Winslow’s hands, 
and had several angry discussions with him on the subject. 
But Simon was impracticable. The only concession he would 
make was to say, that, in the event of Mrs. Ratcliff’s death, he 
should respect any requests she might have made. There had 
consequently been an informal will, if will it could be called, 
made by her a year before, in Ratcliff’s favor. 

Wanting money now to cany out his speculations in slaves, 
Ratcliff had again applied to Winslow for this half a million, — 
had tried wheedlings and threats, both in vain. He had even 
threatened to denounce Simon before the Committee of Safety, 
— to denounce him as a “ damned Yankee and Abolitionist.” 
To which Simon had replied by taking a pinch of snuff. 


A DOUBLE VICTORY. 


309 


Simon, though born somewhere in the vicinity of Plymouth 
Rock, was one of the oldest residents of New Orleans. He 
had helped General Jackson beat off Packenham. He had 
stood by him in his rough handling of the habeas corpus act. 
Simon had been a slaveholder, though rather as an experiment 
than for profit; for, finding that the State Legislature were 
going to pass a law against emancipation, he took time by the 
forelock, and not only made all his slaves free, but placed them 
where they could earn their living. 

The invalid wife’s proposal to vest the title to the white slave 
in Winslow caused in Ratcliff a visible embarrassment. 

“ You know, my dear,” he replied, “ I would do anything for 
your gratification ; but there are particular reasons why — ” 

“ Wliy what, husband ? ” 

“ Give me a few days to think the matter over. We ’ll talk 
of it when I have n’t so much on my mind. Meanwhile I ’ll 
tell you what I will consent to : Josephine shall be yours to do 
with just as you please.” 

“ Come, that ’s something,” said the wife. “ What I ask, then, 
is, that you convey Josephine to Mr. Winslow to hold in trust 
for me. Will you do this the first thing in the morning ? ” 

“ I certainly will,” replied Ratcliff, flattering himself that his 
ready compliance with one of his wife’s morbid whims would 
more than content her for his evasion of the other. 

“ Well, then, good night,” said she, pointing to the door. 

She submitted, with a slight shudder, imperceptible to Rat- 
cliff, to be kissed by him, and he went down -stairs. Josephine 
issued from behind a screen whither the wife had beckoned her 
to go on his first coming in. If there had been any remnant 
of affection for him in the quadroon’s heart, she was well cured 
of it by what she had heard. 

The invalid called for writing materials, and penned a note. 
« Take this, Josephine,” she said, “ early to-morrow to Mr. 
Winslow. In it I simply tell him of Ratcliff’s proposition in 
regard to yourself, and ask him, the moment that affair is 
attended to, to come and see me.” 

The clock was striking twelve the next day when Mr. 
Winslow came, and Josephine ushered him into the invalid’s 
presence. 


310 


PECULIAR. 


“ You may leave us alone for a while, Josephine,” she said. 

As soon as the quadroon had gone out and shut the door, 
the invalid motioned to Winslow to draw near. He was up- 
wards of seventy, tall and erect, with venerable gray locks, 
and an expression of face at once brisk and gentle, benevolent 
and keen. 

“ What ’s the state of the property you still hold for me, Mr 
Winslow ? ” 

“ It is half invested in real estate in Northern cities, and 
half in special deposits of gold in Northern banks.” 

u Indeed ! Then you must have sent it North long before 
these troubles began.” 

“ Yes, more than four years ago, — ■ soon after the Nashville 
Convention.” 

“ What ’s the amount in your hands ? ” 

“ Half a million ; probably it will be seven hundred thou- 
sand, if gold should rise, as I think it will.” 

“ And how much, Mr. Winslow, of the property my father 
left me has gone to Mr. Ratcliff? ” 

“ More than three millions.” 

“ Very well. I wish to revoke all previous requests I may 
have made as to the disposition of the property in your hands. 
Now take your pen and write as I shall dictate.” 

“ Let me first explain, Mrs. Ratcliff, that any conveyance of 
personalty you might make would be null without your hus- 
band’s consent. But in this case forms are of no account, and 
even witnesses are unnecessary. Everything is left to my 
individual honor and discretion.” 

“ I ’m aware of that, Mr. Winslow. It is not so much a 
will as a series of requests I Ve to make.” 

“ I see you understand it, madam. The memoranda you 
give me I will embody in the form of a will of my own. 
Proceed ! ” 

“ Put down,” said the invalid, “ a hundred thousand for the 
Orphan Asylum.” 

“ Excellent ; but as the Secessionists are using that sacred 
fund for war purposes, I shall take the liberty of withholding 
the bequest for the present. Go on.” 

“ A hundred thousand to the Lying-in Hospital.” 


A DOUBLE VICTORY. 


311 


“ Nothing could be more proper. Proceed.” 

“ A hundred thousand to the fund for the Sisters of Charity.” 

“ Ah ! those dear sisters ! Bless you for remembering them, 
madam.” 

“ A hundred thousand to be distributed in sums of five thou- 
sand severally to the persons whose names I have here written 
down.” 

She handed him a sheet of paper containing the names, and 
ne transcribed them carefully. 

“ And now,” resumed the invalid, “ the remainder of the 
fund in your possession I wish paid over, when you can safely 
do it, one half to the slave Josephine, the other half to the white 
slave, Ellen Murray, of whom Josephine will tell you, and 
whom you must rescue from slavery. Both must be free be- 
fore the money can be of any service to them.” 

“Of course. Their owner could at once appropriate any 
sum you might leave to them, even though it were a million 
of dollars.” 

“ You have now heard all I have to say, Mr. Winslow.” 

“Then, madam, you will please write under these memo- 
randa with your own hand something to this effect, and sign 
your name, with date, place, et cetera : 4 This I declare to be 
my own spontaneous , unbiassed request to Mr . Winslow , to dis- 
pose of the property in his possession, in the manner herein- 
above stated .’ The autograph will have no legal force, but it 
may serve to satisfy your husband.” 

The lady wrote, and handed back the paper. 

“ Good ! ” said Winslow. “ Before taking another meal, X 
will draw up and sign a will by which your requests can be 
made effectual.” 

“ Your hand, Mr. Winslow ! My father trusted you as he 
did no other man, and I thank you for your loyalty to what you 
knew to be his wishes.” 

“ The task he put upon me has been a very simple one, 
madam. Good by. We shall soon meet again, I hope.” 

“ Yes. I shall be quite well of my heart-complaint then . 
Good by.” 

Hardly had Winslow left the house than Ratcliff drove up 
and entered. He was in a jubilant mood. News had just been 


312 


PECULIAR. 


received of the Confederate victory at Bull Bun. He knocked 
at his wife’s door. “ Come in !” He entered. Josephine and 
Clara were present, trying to soothe the invalid. One wa3 
bathing her forehead with eau de Cologne; the other was 
kneeling, and rubbing her feet. She had been telling them 
what she had done. She had kissed first one and then the 
other, lavishing on them profuse tokens of affection. Her eyes 
gleamed with an unnatural brightness, and her cheeks were 
flushed with the glow of a great excitement. 

As Ratcliff came in she rose, and, standing between Josephine 
and Clara, put an arm round the shoulder of each, and looked 
her husband steadily in the face. Her expression was that of 
one who cannot find words adequate to the utterance of some 
absorbing emotion. The look was compounded at once of defi- 
ance and of pity. Her lips moved, but no articulation followed. 
Then suddenly, with a gasped “ Ah ! ” she convulsively bowed 
her body like a tree smitten by the tornado. The pain, if 
sharp, was but for a moment. 

The motion was her last. She sank into the faithful arms 
that encircled her. The one attenuated chord that bound her 
to the mortal life had been snapped. 

Ratcliff started forward, and satisfied himself that his wife 
was really dead. Then he looked up at Clara. 

She caught the expression of his countenance, and instinct- 
ively comprehended it, even as the little bird understands the 
hawk, or the lamb the wolf. Josephine saw it too. What a 
triumph now to think that she was no longer his slave ! 

But Clara, — what of her ? Mrs. Ratcliff’s sudden death 
seemed to shatter the last barrier between her and danger.* 

Ratcliff did not affect to conceal his satisfaction. • Here was 
a double victory ! The F ederals and his wife both disposed 
of in one day ! Youth and beauty within his grasp ! Truly, 
fortune seemed to be heaping her good things upon him. That 
half a million too, in Winslow’s hands, would come very oppor- 
tunely ; for slaves could be bought cheap, dog-cheap, now that 
croakers were predicting ruin to the institution. 

“Josephine,” said he, “I must go at once to see Winslow, 
the late ” — how readily he seized on that word ! — “ the late 
Mrs. Ratcliff’s man of business. I may not be home to dinner. 


A DOUBLE VICTORY. 


313 


You ’d better not take out tbe carriage. Tlie horses would be 
frightened ; for the streets are all in commotion with salvos for 
our great victory. Good by till I return.” 

Once more he turned on Clara that look from which she had 
twice before shrunk dismayed and exasperated. 

After he had gone, “ Help me to escape at once ! ” she ex- 
claimed. 

“ No,” replied Josephine. “ This is our safest place for the 
present. The avenues of escape from the city are all closed ; 
and we should find it difficult to go where we would not be 
tracked. The danger is not immediate. Do not look so wild, 
Darling. I swear to you that I will protect you to the last. 
Whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I will 
lodge. ” 


/ 


14 


814 


PECULIAR 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

SATAN AMUSES HIMSELF 

“ Wc can die ; 

And, dying nobly, though we leave behind us 
These clods of flesh, that are too massy burdens, 

Our living souls fly crowned with living conquests.” 

Beaumont and Fletcher. 

V ANCE sat in his room at the St. Charles. He seemed 
plunged in meditation. His fingers were playing with a 
little gold cross he wore round his neck ; a trinket made very 
precious by the dying kiss and pious faith of Estelle. It re- 
called to him daily those memorable moments of their last 
earthly parting. And she now seemed so near ta him, so truly 
alive to him, in all his perplexities, that he would hardly have 
been surprised to see her suddenly standing in immortal youth 
by his side. How could he, while thus possessed with her en- 
chanting image, evoke from his heart any warmer sentiment 
than that of friendship for any other woman? 

He thought of the so-called Perdita. He feared he would 
have to leave the city without getting any further light than 
Miss Tremaine had vouchsafed on the mystery that surrounded 
that interesting young person. One thing, on reconsideration, 
puzzled him and excited his distrust in Laura’s story. Perdita 
had pretended that the name Brown was improvised for the 
occasion, — assumed while she was conversing with him. 
Could she have been deceiving? 

There were still other reflections that brought anxiety. He 
had not yet heard from Peek. Could that faithful friend have 
failed in all his inquiries for Hyde ? 

The immediate matter for consideration, however, was the 
danger that began to darken over Vance’s own path. It had 
been ascertained by leading Secessionists, interested in provid- 
ing for the financial wants of the Rebellion, that Vance had 
drawn more than a hundred thousand dollars of special depos- 


SATAN AMUSES -HIMSELF. 


315 


its of gold from the banks since the fall of Sumter. The ques- 
tion was now. put to him by the usurpers, What had been done 
with that money? He was summoned to appear before the 
authorities with an explanation. A committee would be in 
session that very evening to hear his statement. 

There was still another subject to awaken his concern. 
Kenrick had been called on to set at rest certain unfavorable 
reports, by appearing before that same committee, and accept- 
ing a captaincy in the confederate army. Onslow was to be 
presented with a colonel’s commission. 

Vance had made preparations for the escape of Kenrick and 
himself. A little steam-tug called the Artful Dodger, carrying 
the Confederate flag, lay in the river. Everybody supposed 
she was a sort of spy on United States cruisers. For two 
days she had lain there with steam all up, ready to start at a 
moment’s warning. Her crew appeared to be all ashore, ex- 
cept the captain, mate, engineer, cook, and two stewards. 
The last three were black men. The other three, if they were 
not Yankees, had caught some peculiarities of pronunciation 
which the schoolmaster is vainly striving to extirpate at the 
North. These men said beeyownd for bound , and neeyow for 
now. 

While Vance was meditating on his arrangements, a card 
was brought to him. It bore the name “ Simon Winslow.” 

“ Show him in,” said Vance to the servant. 

As Simon entered, Vance recognized him as the individual 
who had aided him the day of the rescue of Quattles from the 
mob. 

“ There ’s a sort of freemasonry, Mr. Vance,” said Winslow, 
“ that assures me I may trust you. Your sympathies, sir, are 
with the Union.” 

Wary and suspicious, Vance bowed, but made no reply. 

“ Do not doubt me,” continued Winslow. “ True, I ’ve been 
a slaveholder. But ’t is now several years since I owned a 
slave. Mr. Vance, I want your counsel, and, it may be, your 
aid. Still distrustful ? How shall I satisfy you that I ’m not 
a traitor knave ? ” • 

“ Enough, Mr. Winslow ! I ’ll trust your threescore years 
and your loyal face. Tell me what I can do for you. Be 
seated.” 


PECULIAR. 


5516 

They sat down, and the old man resumed : “ I have lived in 
this city more than forty years, Mr. Yance, but for some time 
I ’ve foreseen that there would be little hope for a man of 
Northern birth unless he would consent to howl with the pack 
for secession and a slave confederacy. Now I ’m too old to 
tune my bark to any such note. The consequence is, I am a 
marked man, liable at any moment to be seized and impris- 
oned. My property here is nearly all in real estate ; so if 
that is confiscated, as it will be, I ’ve no fear but Uncle Sam 
will soon come to give it back to me. The rest of my assets 
it will be hard for the keenest-scented inquisitor to find. To- 
day, by the death of Mrs. Ratcliff — ” 

“Of what Mrs. Ratcliff?” inquired Yance. 

“Mrs. Carberry Ratcliff. By her death I become the 
legally irresponsible, and therefore all the more morally the 
responsible, manager of an estate of more than half a million, 
of which a considerable portion is to be used by me for the 
benefit of two women at present slaves.” 

“But her husband will never consent to it!” interposed 
Yance. 

“ Fortunately,” replied Winslow, “ all the property was some 
time since sent North and converted into gold. Well : I ’ve 
just come from an interview with Ratcliff himself. He came 
to tell me of his wife’s death. He brought with him a quasi 
will, signed a year ago, in which liis wife requests me to hand 
over to him such property as I may consider at her disposal. 
He called on me to demand that I should forthwith surrender 
my trust; said he was in immediate need of three hundred 
thousand dollars. He did not dream of a rebuff. He was in 
high spirits. The news from Bull Run had greatly elated 
him. His wife’s death he plainly regarded as a happy relief. 
Conceive of his wrath, when, in the midst of his lofty hopes 
and haughty demands, I handed him a copy of the memoranda, 
noted down by me this very day, in which Mrs. Ratcliff makes 
a very different disposition of the property.” 

“ I know something of the man’s temper,” said Yance. 

“ He laughed a scornful laugh,” resumed Winslow, “ and, 
shaking his forefinger at me, said : ( You shall swing for this, 
you damned old Yankee ! Your trusteeship is n’t worth a 


SATAN AMUSES HIMSELF. 


317 


straw. I ’ll Lave you compelled to disgorge, this very hour/ 
But when I told him that the whole half-million, left in my 
hands by his wife’s father, was safely deposited in gold in a 
Northern city, the man actually grew livid with rage. He 
drew his Derringer on me, and would probably have shot me 
but for the sober second thought that told him he could make 
more out of me living than dead. In a frenzy he left my 
office. This was about half an hour ago. After reflection on 
our interview I concluded it would be prudent in me to escape 
from the city if possible, and I have come to ask if you can aid 
me in doing it.” 

“ Nothing could be more opportune,” replied Vance, “ than 
your coming. I have laid all my plans to leave in a small 
steamer this very night. A young friend goes with me. You 
shall accompany us. Have you any preparations to make ? ” 

“ None, except to find some trustworthy person with whom 
I can leave an amount of money for the two slave-women of 
whom I spoke. F or it would be dangerous, if not impractica- 
ble, to attempt to take them with us.” 

“ Yes, use your golden keys to unlock their chains in this 
case,” said Vance. “ Do not show yourself again on the street. 
Ratcliff will at once have detectives at your heels. Hark ! 

^ There ’s a knock at the door. Pass into my chamber, and lock 
yourself in, and open only to my rapping, thus, — one, two — 
one, two — one.” 

Winslow obeyed, and Vance, opening his parlor door, met 
Kenrick. 

“ Well, cousin,” asked Vance, “ are you all ready ? You 
look pale, man ! What ’s the matter ? ” 

“ Nothing,” replied Kenrick ; “ that is, everything. I wish 
I ’d never seen that Perdita Brown ! Look here ! They ’ve 
got her photograph in the print-shops. Beautiful, is it not ? ” 

“ Yes ; it almost does her justice. Could you draw out from 
the Tremaines no remark which would afford a further clew ? ” 
“ After you had failed, what could I hope to do ? But I ’ll 
tell you what I ventured upon. All stratagems in love and 
war are venial, I suppose. Seeing that Miss Tremaine was 
deeply interested in your conquering self, I tried to pique 
her by making her think you were secretly enamored of Miss 


318 


PECULIAR. 


Brown. She denied it warmly. I then said : ‘ Reflect ! Has 
n’t he been very inquisitive in trying to find out all he could 
about her ? ’ She was obliged to confess that you had ; and at 
last, after considerable skirmishing between us, she dropped 
this remark : ‘ Those who would fall in love with her had 
better first find out whether she ’s a lady.’ ‘ She certainly 
appears one,’ I replied. ‘ Yes,’ said Miss Tremaine, ‘ and so 
does many a Creole who has African blood in her veins.’ ” 
“Ah! what could that mean?” exclaimed Yance, thought- 
fully. “ Can that story of a paternal Brown be all a lie ? ” 
Here there was a low knock at the door. Vance opened it, 
and there stood Peek. 

“ Come in ! ” said Yance, grasping him by the hand, drawing 
him in, and closing the door. “ What news ? ” 

And then, seeing the negro’s hesitation, Yance turned to 
Kenrick, and said : “ Cousin, this is the man to whom you 
need no introduction. He was christened Peculiar Institution ; 
but, for brevity, we call him Peek.” 

Kenrick put out his hand with a face so glowing with a 
cordial respect that Peek could not resist the proffer. 

“ Now, Peek,” said Yance, “ pull off that hot wig and those 
green spectacles, and, unless you would keep us standing, sit 
down and be at ease. There ! That ’s right. Now, first of 
all, did you hit upon any trace of your wife and boy ? ” 

“ None, Mr. Yance. I think they cannot be in Texas.” 

“ Then what of Colonel Delaney Hyde ? ” 

“ The Colonel was said to have attached himself to the for- 
tunes of General Van Dorn. That ’s all I could find out about 
Hyde.” 

“ Pity ! I must unearth the fellow somehow. The fate of 
that poor little girl of the Pontiac haunts me night and day. 
My suspicions of foul play have been fully confirmed. When 
you have time, read this letter which I had written to send 
you. It will tell you of all I learnt from Quattles and Amos 
Slink. But you have something to ask. What is it ? ” 

“ Where shall I find Captain Onslow of the Confederate 
army ? ” 

Vance pointed to Kenrick, who replied : “ I know him well. 
He is probably now in this house. ’Tis his usual time for 
dressing for dinner.” 


SATAN AMUSES HIMSELF. 


319 


“ I Ve terrible news for him,” said Peek. 

“ What has happened ? ” 

“On my way from Austin to Fort Duncan on the Rio 
Grande I passed through San Antonio. You have heard some- 
thing of the persecutions of Union men in Western Texas ? ” 

“ Yes. Good Heavens ! Is old Onslow among the victims ? ” 
“ He and his whole family — wife, son, and daughter — have 
been slain by the Confederate agents.” 

The cousins looked at each other, and each grew paler as he 
read the other’s thought. Vance spoke first. “ Go on, Peek,” 
he said. “ Tell us what you know.” 

“ The old man, you see,” said Peek, “ has been trying for 
some time to do without slave labor. He has employed a good 
many Germans on his lands. The slaveholders have n’t liked 
this. At the beginning of the Rebellion he went with old 
Houston and others against secession ; but when Houston 
caved in, Onslow remained firm and plucky. He kept quiet, 
however, and did nothing that the Secesh authorities could find 
fault with. But what they wanted was an excuse for murdering 
him and seizing his lands. They employed three scoundrels, a 
broken-down lawyer, a planter, and a horse-jockey, to visit him 
under the pretence that they were good Union and antislavery 
men, trying to escape the conscription. The old man fell into 
the trap. Thinking he was among friends, he freely declared, 
that ‘ he meant to keep true to the old flag ; that only one of his 
family had turned traitor ; the rest (thank God !) including the 
women, were thoroughly loyal ; that secession would prove a 
failure, and end (thank God always !) in the breaking up of 
slavery.’ At the same time he told them he should make no 
resistance, either open or clandestine, to the laws of the State. 
The scoundrels tried to implicate him in some secret plot, but 
failed. They had drawn out of him enough, however, for their 
purposes. They left him, and straightway denounced him as 
an Abolitionist. A gang of cutthroats, set on by the Rebel 
leaders, came to hang him. Well knowing he could expect no 
mercy, the old man barricaded his doors, armed his household, 
and prepared to resist. The women loaded the guns while the 
men fired. Several of the assailants were wounded. The 
rest grew furious, and at last made an entrance by a back door, 


320 


PECULIAR. 


rushed in, and overpowered William Onslow, the son, who had 
received a ball in his neck. They dragged him out and hung 
him to a tree. The daughter they tried to pinion and lash to 
the floor, but she fought so desperately that a ruffian, whose 
hair she had torn out by the roots, shot her dead. The 
mother, in a frantic attempt to save the daughter, received a 
blow on the head from which she died. The old man, ex- 
hausted and fatally wounded, was disarmed, and placed under 
guard in the room from which he had been firing. It was not 
till the women and the son were dead that I arrived on the 
spot. I claimed to be a Secesh nigger, and the passes Mr. 
Yance had given me confirmed my story. The Rebels regarded 
me as a friend and helper. I lurked round the room where the 
old man was confined, and at last, through whiskey, I persuaded 
his guard to lie down and go to sleep. I then made myself 
known to the sufferer. I helped him write a letter to his sur- 
viving son. Here it is, stained as you see by the writer’s blood. 
You can 'read it, Mr. Yance. It contains no secrets. Hardly 
had I concealed it in my pocket, when some of the Rebels came 
in, seized the old man, helpless and dying as he was, and, drag- 
ging him out, hung him on a tree by the side of his son.” 

Peek ended his narrative, and Yance, taking the proffered 
letter, slowly drew it from the envelope and unfolded it. There 
dropped out four strands of hair : one white, one iron-gray, one 
a fine and thick flaxen, and one a rich brown-black. 

“ I cut off those strands of hair, thinking that Captain Ons- 
low might prize them,” said Peek. 

“ You did well,” remarked Yance. “ And since you have 
authority to permit it, I will read this letter.” 

He then read aloud as follows : — 

“ Stricken down by a death-wound, I write this. When it 
reaches you, my son, you will be the last survivor of your 
family. The faithful negro who bears this letter will tell you 
all. You may rely on what he says. This crafty, this Satanic 
Slave Power has — I can use the pen no longer. But I 
can dictate. The negro must be my amanuensis.” 

And then, in a different handwriting, the letter proceeded : — 

“ This Slave Power, which, for many weeks past, has been 
hunting down and hanging Union men, has at last laid its 


SATAN AMUSES HIMSELF. 


321 


bloody hand on our innocent household. Should you meet 
Colonel A. J. Hamilton,* he will tell you something of what 
the pro-slavery butchers have been doing. 

“ Yesterday three men called on me. They brought forged 
letters from one I knew to be my friend. The trick succeeded. 
I admitted them to my confidence. They left and denounced 
me to the Confederate leaders. My only crime was a secret 
sympathy with the Union cause. Not a finger had I lifted or 
threatened to lift against the ruling powers of the State. But 
I did not love slavery, — that was the crime of crimes in the 
eyes of Jeff Davis’s immediate partisans and friends. 

“ To-day they came with ropes to hang us, — to hang us, 
remember, not for resistance to authority, however usurped, 
not for one imprudent act or threat against slavery, but simply 
because we were known at heart to disapprove of slavery, 
and consequently to love the old flag. And many hundreds 
have been hung here for no other offence. We knew we could 
expect no better fate than our neighbors had bravely encoun- 
tered ; and we resolved, men and women, to sell our lives 
dearly. Your brother fell wounded, and was hung ; then your 
sister, resisting outrage, was slain ; then your mother, striving 
to protect Emily, received a mortal blow. And I am lying 
here wounded, soon to be dragged forth and hung — for what ? 
— for unbelief, not in a God, but in the Southern Confederacy 
and its corner-stone ! 

“And this is slavery! All these brutalities and wrongs 
spring from slavery as naturally as the fruit from the blossom. 
That which is inherently wrong must, by eternal laws, still pro- 
duce and reproduce wrong. The right to hold one imiocent 

* Late member of Congress from Texas. In his speech in New York 
(1862) he said: “I know that the loyalists of Texas have died deaths not 
heard of since the dark ages until now; not only hunted and shot, murdered 
upon their own thresholds, but tied up and scalded to death with boiling 
water; torn asunder by wild horses fastened to their feet; whole neighbor- 
hoods of men exterminated, and their wives and children driven away.” 

It is estimated by a writer in the New Orleans Crescent (June, 1863), that 
at least twenty-jive hundred persons had been hung in Texas during the pre- 
ceding two years for fidelity to the Union. 

The San Antonio (Texas) Herald, a Rebel sheet of November 13th, 1862, 
taunted the Unionists with the havoc that had been made among them ! It 
says: “ They (Union men) are known and will be remembered. Their num- 
bers were small at first, and they are becoming every day less. In the 
mountains near Fort Clark and along the Rio Grande their bones are bleach- 
ing in the sun, and in the counties of Wire and Denton their bodies are 
suspended by scores from black-jacks.” 

Such are the shameless butchers and hangmen that Slavery spawns! 

14* u 


322 


PECULIAR. 


man a slave, implies the right to enslave or murder any other 
man ! There is no such right. It is a lie born in the inmost 
brain of hell. No laws can make it a right. No clamor of 
majorities can give it a sanction. In slavery, Satan once more 
scales the heavenly heights. 

“ Jeff Davis, I hear, has just joined the church. Would he 
be pardoned, and retain the offence ? If so, not prayers nor 
sacraments can save his trembling and perjured soul from the 
guilt of such wrongs as I and mine, and hundreds of other true 
men and women, here in Texas have fallen under because of 
slavery. God is not to be cheated by any such flattering unc- 
tion as Davis is laying to his heart. The more he seeks to 
cover profane with holy things, the deeper will be his damna- 
tion in that world where all shams and self-delusions are dis- 
solved, and the true man stands revealed, to be judged by his 
fidelity to Christ’s golden rule, — to the cause of justice and 
humanity on earth. 

“ Our national agony is the old conflict of the Divine with 
the Satanic principle. Believe in God, my son, and you can- 
not doubt the result. Do you suppose Eternal Justice will be 
patient much longer? Think of the atrocities to which this 
American slave system has reconciled us ! A free white man 
can, in any of the Slave States, go into a negro’s house and 
beat or kill any of the inmates, and not be prosecuted by law, 
except a free white man sees him do it ; because a negro’s testi- 
mony is not taken against a white man. As for the marriage of 
slaves, you well know what a mere farce — what a subject for 
ribaldry and laughter — it is among the masters. No tie, 
whether of affection, of blood, or of form, is respected.* 

“ The originators of this rebellion saw that by inevitable laws 
of 'population slavery must go down under a republican form 
of government. Their fears and their jealousies of freedom 
grew intolerable. The very word free became hateful. They 
saw that their property in slaves depended for its duration on 
the action of political forces slumbering in the mass of their 
white population, which population, though now densely igno- 
rant, would gradually learn that slavery is adverse to the inter- 
ests of nine tenths of the whites. And so this war was origi- 
nated even less to separate from the North than to crush into 
hopeless subjection , through that separation , the white masses at 

* “ Marriage,” says a Catholic Bishop of a Southern State, quoted in the 
Cincinnati Catholic Telegraph, “ is scarcely known amongst them (the 
slaves) ; the masters attach, no importance to it. In some States those who 
teach them (the slaves) to read are punished with death." 


SATAN AMUSES HIMSELF. 


323 


the South. The slave barons dreaded lest Ibis drugged and 
stupefied giant should rouse from his ignoble slumber, and, 
learning his strength, and opening his eyes to the truth, should, 
Samson-like, seize the pillars of their system. To prevent this, 
a grand oligarchy of slaveholders must be created, and the lib- 
erties of the whites destroyed ! 

“ You will see all this now, my son. Yes, I have this com- 
fort in my extremity : my son will be converted from wrong ; 
the stubborn head will be reached through the stricken heart ; 
we shall not have died in vain. And his conversion will be 
instantaneous. But be prudent, my son. Let not passion be- 
tray you. These Rebel leaders are as remorseless as they are 
crafty. All the bad energies of the very prince of devils are 
ranged on their side, and will help them to temporary success. 

“ Let them see that higher and more persistent energies can 
spring from the right. What I most fear for the North is the 
paralyzing effect of its prosperity. It will go on thriving on 
the war, while the South is learning the wholesome training 
of adversity. Young men at the North will be tempted by 
money-making to stay at home. The voice of Mammon will 
be louder than the voice of God in their hearts. This will be 
their tremendous peril. But God will not be thwarted. If 
prosperity will not make the North do God’s work, then adver- 
sity must be called in. 

“ Set your heart on no private vengeance, my son. Take 
this as my dying entreaty. Let your revenge be the restora- 
tion of the old flag. All the rest must follow as the night the 

day And now, farewell ! May God bless and guide you. 

I go to join your mother, brother, and sister. Their spirits are 
round me while I speak. Their love goes forth to you with 
mine, and my prayer for you is their prayer also. Adieu ! ” 


There was silence for a full minute after the reading. 

“ I ’ll wait,” said Kenrick, “ till he gets through dinner be- 
fore I tell him the news. He’ll need all his strength, poor 
fellow ! ” 

“ I foresee,” said Vance, “ that Onslow will be of our party 
of escape this night.” And then, turning to Peek, he remarked : 
« Your coming, Peculiar, is timely. I want the help of a trust- 
worthy driver. You are the man for us. Can you, without 
exciting suspicion, get the control of a carriage and two fast, 
fresh horses ? ” 

Peek reflected a moment, and then said : “ Yes ; I know a 


324 


PECULIAR. 


colored man, Antoine Lafour, who has the care of two of the 
best horses in the city. His master really thinks Antoine 
would fight any Abolitionist who might come to free him ; but 
Antoine and I laugh at the old man’s credulity.” 

“ There ’s yet another service you can render,” said Vance ; 
and he gave five raps on the door of his chamber. 

The lock was turned from the inside, and Winslow appeared. . 

“ You ’re among friends,” said Vance. “ This is my cousin, 
Mr. Kenrick ; and this is Peculiar Institution, otherwise called 
Peek. Notwithstanding his inauspicious name, you may trust 
him as you would your own right hand.” 

“ But I want an agent who can write and keep accounts.” 

“ Then Peek is just the man for you. Of his ability you 
can satisfy yourself in five minutes. For his honesty I will 
vouch.” 

“ But will he remain in New Orleans the next six months ? ” 

“ I hope so,” replied Vance. “ This is my plan for you, 
Peek : that you should still occupy that little house of mine 
with the Bernards. I ’ve spoken to them about it ; and they 
will treat you well for my sake. I want some one here with 
whom I may freely communicate ; and more, I want you to 
pursue your search for Colonel Delaney Hyde, and to secure 
him when found, which you can easily do with money. Will 
you remain ? ” 

“ You know how it is with me, Mr. Vance,” said Peek. “ I 
have two objects in life : One is to find my wife and child ; the 
other is to help on the great cause. For both these objects I 
can have no better head-quarters than New Orleans.” 

“ Good ! He will remain, Mr. Winslow. Go now both of 
you into the next room. You ’ll find writing materials on the 
table.” 

The old man and the negro withdrew. Kenrick paced the 
floor, thinking one moment of Clara, and the next of the dread- 
ful communication he must make to Onslow. Vance sat down 
and leaned his head on his hands to consider if there was any- 
thing he had left undone. 

“ I hear some one knocking at the door of my room,” said 
Kenrick. He went into the corridor, and a servant handed 
him a card. It was from Onslow, and pencilled on it was tho 
following : — 


SATAN AMUSES HIMSELF. 


325 


u Come to the dinner-table, Kenrick. Where are you ? 
Dreaming of Perdita? Or planning impracticable victories 
for your Yankee friends ? Come and join me in a bottle of 
claret. It may be our last together. Only think of it, my 
dear lellow, I am to be made a Colonel ! But that will not 
please you. Sink politics ! We will ignore all that is dis- 
agreeable. There shall be no slavery, — no Rebeldom, — no 
Yankeedom. All shall be Arcadian. We will talk over old 
times, and compare notes in regard to Perdita. I don’t believe 
you are a tenth part as much in love as I am. Where has the 
enchantress- gone ? ‘ O matchless sweetness ! whither art thou 

vanished ? O thou fair soul of all thy sex ! what paradise hast 
tliou enriched and blessed ? ’ Come, Kenrick, come ; if only 
for auld lang syne, come and chat with me ; for the day of 
action draws near, when there shall be no more chatting ! ” 

Sick at heart, Kenrick handed the card to Yance, who read 
it, and said : “ The sooner a disagreeable duty is discharged, 
the better. Go, cousin, and let him know the character of that 
fell Power which he would serve. Let him know what reason 
he, of all men, has to love it ! ” 

“ I ’d rather face a battery than do it ; but it must be done.” 

At the same moment Winslow and the negro entered. 

“ I ’ve arranged everything with Peek,” said the old man. 
u I ’ve placed in his hands funds which I think will be suffi- 
cient.” 

“ That reminds me that I must do the same,” said Yance ; 
and, taking a large sum in bank-bills from his pocket-book, he 
gave it to Peek to use as he might see fit, first for the common 
cause, and secondly for prosecuting inquiries in regard to the 
kidnapped child of the Pontiac, and his own family. 

Peek carefully noted down dates and amounts in a memo- 
randum-book, and then remarked, “ Now I must see Captain 
Onslow.” 

“ Give me that letter from his father, and I will myself 
deliver it,” said Kenrick. 

“ But I promised to see him.” 

“ That you can do this evening.” 

Peek gave up the letter, and Kenrick darted out of the 
room. 

Turning to Yance and Winslow, Peek remarked : “ I thank 


326 


PECULIAR. 


you for your confidence, gentlemen. I ’ll do my best to de- 
serve it.” 

“ I wish our banks deserved it as well,” said Vance ; then he 
added : “ And now, Peek, make your arrangements carefully, 
and be with the carriage at the door just under my window at 
nine o’clock precisely.” 

Peek compared watches with Vance, promised to be punc- 
tual, and took his leave. 

Vance rang the bell, and ordered a private dinner for two. 
Unlocking a drawer, he took from it two revolvers and handed 
one to Winslow, with the remark, “ You are skilled in the use 
of the pistol, I suppose ? ” 

“ Though I ’ve been a planter and owned slaves, I must 
say no” 

“ Then a revolver would rather be a danger than a security.” 

And Vance thrust the pistols into the side pockets of his 
own coat. 

Dinner was brought in. 

“ Come,” said Vance, “ we must eat. My way of life has 
compelled me to suffer no excitement to impair my appetite. 
Indeed, I have passed through the one supreme excitement, 
after which all others, even the prospect of immediate death, 
are quite tame. Happy the man, Mr. Winslow, who can say, 
I cling to this life no longer for myself, but for others and for 
humanity ! ” 

“ Such a sentiment would better become a man of my age 
than of yours,” replied Winslow. 

“ Here ’s the dinner,” said Vance. “Now let us talk noth- 
ing but nonsense. Let us think of nothing that requires the 
effort of a serious thought.” 

“Well then,” replied Winslow. “Suppose we discuss the 
last number of De Bow’s Review, or that charlatan Maury’s 
last lying letter in the London Times.” 

“Excellent!” said Vance. “For reaching the very sub- 
lime of the superficial, commend me to De Bow or to the 
Chevalier Maury.” 

Before the dinner was over, each man felt that the day had 
not been unprofitable, since he had earned a friend. 


LIGHT FROM THE PIT. 


327 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

LIGHT FROM THE PIT. 

“ There ’s not a breathing of the common wind 
That will forget thee ; thou hast great allies ; 

Thy friends are exultations, agonies, 

And love, and Man’s unconquerable mind.” — Wordsworth. 

K ENRICK found Onslow seated at one of the tables of 
the large dining-hall and expecting his coming. The 
chair on his right was tipped over on its fore legs against the 
table as a signal that the seat was engaged. On Onslow’s left 
sat the scoffer, Robson. 

As Kenrick advanced, Onslow rose, took him by the hand, 
and*placed him in the reserved seat. Robson bowed, and filled 
three glasses with claret. 

“ But how grave and pale you look, Charles ! ” said Onslow. 
“ What the deuce is the matter ? Come on ! Absit atra cura ! 
Begone, dull care ! Toss off that glass of claret, or Robson 
will scorn you as a skulker.” 

“ The wine is not bad,” said Robson, “ but there should have 
been ice in the cooler. May the universal Yankee nation be 
eternally and immitigably consigned to perdition for depriving 
us of our ice. Every time I am thirsty, — and that is fifty 
times a day, — my temper is tried, and I wish I had a plenipo- 
tentiary power of cursing. With the thermometer at ninety, 
’t is a lie to say Cotton is king. Ice is king. The glory of our 
juleps has departed. For my own part, I would grovel at old 
Abe’s feet if he would give us ice.” 

Kenrick could not force a smile. He touched his lips with 
the claret. 

“You will take soup?” inquired Onslow.^ “It is tomato, 
and very good.” 

“ What you please, I ’m not hungry.” 

Onslow ordered the servant to bring a plate of soup. Ken- 
rick stirred it a moment, tasted, then pushed it from him. Its 


328 


PECULIAR. 


color reminded him of the precious blood, dear to his friend, 
which had been so ruthlessly shed. 

“ A plate of pompinoe,” said Onslow. 

The dainty fish was put before Kenrick, and he broke it into 
morsels with his fork, then told the servant to take it away. 

“ But you ’ve no appetite,” complained Onslow. “ Is it the 
Perdita?” 

Kenrick shook his head mournfully. 

“ Is it Bull Run?” 

“No. Had not somebody been afraid of hurting slavery, 
and so played the laggard, the United States forces would have 
carried the day ; and that would have been the worst thing for 
the country that could have happened ! ” 

“ Did I not promise there should be no politics ? Neverthe- 
less, expound.” 

“ He laughs best who laughs last. Let that suffice. It is 
not time yet for the Union to gain decisive victories ; nor will 
it be time till the conscience of the people of the North is right 
and ripe for the uprooting of slavery. Their conservative 
politicians, — their Seymours and Pughs, — who complain of 
the 1 irrepressible negro,’ — must find out it is the irrepressible 
God Almighty, and give up kicking against the pricks. Then 
when the North as one man shall say, ‘ Thy kingdom come,’ — 
Thy kingdom of justice and compassion, — then, O then! we 
may look for the glorious day-star that shall herald the dawn. 
God reigns. Therefore shall slavery not reign. I believe in 
the moral government of the world.” 

“ Is n’t it a pity, Robson, that so good a fellow as Charles 
should be so bitter an Abolitionist ? ” 

“ Wait till he ’s tempted with a colonelcy in the Confederate 
army,” sneered Robson. “Ah! Mr. Kenrick, when you see 
Onslow charging into Philadelphia, at the head of his troop of 
horse, sacking that plethoric old city of rectangles, — leering at 
the pretty Quakeresses, — knocking down his own men for un- 
soldierly familiarities, — walking into those Chestnut Street 
jewelry stores and pocketing the diamond rings, — when you 
see all that, you ’ll wish you ’d gone with the winning side.” 

“ As I live,” cried Onslow, “ there ’s a tear in his eye 
What does it mean, Charley?” 


LIGHT FROM THE PIT. 


329 


“ If it is a tear, respect its sanctity,” replied Kenrick, gravely. 

“ Gentlemen, I must go,” said Robson, who found the atmos- 
phere getting to be unjoyous and uncongenial. “ Good by ! 
I ’ve a polite invitation to be present at a meeting to raise 
money for the outfit of a new regiment. Between ourselves, 
if it were a proposition to supply the alligators in our bayous 
with gutta-percha tails, I would contribute my money much 
more cheerfully, assured that it would do much more good, and 
be a far more profitable investment. Addio ! ” 

No sooner had he gone than Kenrick said : “ Let us adjourn 
to your room. I have something to say to you.” 

In silence the friends passed out of the hall and up-stairs 
into Onslow’s sleeping apartment. 

“ Kenrick,” said he, “ your manner is inexplicable. It chills 
and distresses me. If I can do anything for you before I go 
North to fight for the stars and bars — ” 

“ Never will you lift the arm for that false flag ! ” interrupted 
Kenrick. “ You will join me this very hour in cursing it and 
spurning it.” 

“ Charles, your hate of the Confederacy grows morbid. Let 
it not make us private as well as public enemies.” 

“ No, Robert, we shall be faster friends than ever.” 

And Kenrick affectionately threw his arms round his friend 
and pressed him to his breast. 

“ But what does this mean, Charles ? ” cried Onslow. 
“ There ’s a terrible pity in your eyes. Explain it, I beseech 
you.” 

Kenrick drew from his pocket a letter-envelope, and, taking 
from it four strands of hair, placed them on the white marble 
of the bureau before Onslow’s eyes. The Captain looked at 
them wonderingly; took up one after another, examined it, 
and laid it down. His breast began to heave, and his cheek to 
pale. He looked at Kenrick, then turned quickly away, as if 
dreading some foreshadowing of an evil not to be uttered. 
For five minutes he walked the room, and said nothing. Then 
he again went to the bureau and regarded the strands of hair. 

“ Well,” said he, speaking tremulously and quickly, and not 
daring to look at Kenrick, “ I recognize these locks of hair. 
This white hair is my father’s ; this half gray is my mother’s ; 


330 


PECULIAR. 


this beautiful flaxen is my sister Emily’s ; and this brownish 
black is my brother’s. Why do you put these before me ? A 
sentimental way of telling me, I suppose, that they all send 
their love, and beg I would turn Abolitionist!” 

“ Yes,” sighed Kenrick. “ From their graves they beg it.” 

With a look of unspeakable horror, his hands pressed on 
the top of his head as if to keep down some volcanic throe, 
his mouth open, his tongue lolling out, idiot-like, Onslow stood 
speechless staring at his friend. 

Kenrick led him gently to the sofa, forced him to sit down, 
and then, with a tenderness almost womanly in its delicacy, 
removed the sufferer’s hands from his head, and smoothed back 
his thick fine hair from his brow, and away from his ears. 
Onslow’s inward groanings began to grow audible. Suddenly 
he rose, as if resolved to master his weakness. Then, sinking 
down, he exclaimed, “ God of heaven, can it be ? ” And then 
groans piteous but tearless succeeded. 

At last, as if bracing himself to an effort that tore his very 
heart-strings, he rose and said, “ Now, Charles, tell me all.” 

Kenrick handed him the letter which Peek had brought. 
“ Let me leave you while you read,” he said. Onslow did not 
object ; and Kenrick went into the corridor, and walked there 
to and fro for nearly half an hour. Th^n he re-entered the 
chamber. Onslow was on his knees by the sofa ; his father’s 
letter, smeared with his father’s life-blood, in his hand. The 
young man had been praying. And his eyes showed that 
prayer had so softened his heart that he could weep. He rose, 
calm, though very pale. 

“ Where can I see this negro ? ” he asked. 

“ He will be here at the hotel this evening,” replied Kenrick. 

“ And what, — what,” said Onslow hesitatingly, “ what did 
they do with my father ? ” 

“ They hung him on the same tree with your brother.” 

“Yes,” said Onslow, with a calmness more terrible than a 
frantic grief. “ Yes ! Of course his gray hairs were no pro- 
tection.” 

There was a pause ; and then, “ What do you mean to do ? ” 
said Kenrick. 

“ Can you doubt ? ” exclaimed Onslow. 


LIGHT FROM THE PIT. 


331 


A servant knocked at the door and left a package. It con- 
tained a complimentary letter and a Colonel’s commission, 
signed by the Confederate authorities. “ You see these,” said 
Onslow, handing them to Kenrick. Then, taking them, he 
contemptuously tore them, and madly threw the pieces on the 
floor. 

“ Yes, my father is right,” he cried. “ It is Slavery that has 
done this horror. On the head of Slavery lies the guilt. O 
the blind fool, the abject fawner, that I ’ve been ! Instead of 
being by the side of my brave brother, here I was wearing the 
detested livery of the brutal Power that smote down a whole 
family because they would not kneel at its bloody footstool! 
Who ever heard of a man being harmed at the North for de- 
fending Slavery ? No ! ’t is a foul lie to say that aught but 
Slavery can prompt and lend itself to such barbarities ! The 
cowardly butchers ! O, damn them ! damn them ! ” 

And he tore from his shoulders the badges of his military 
rank, and, spurning them with his foot, continued : “ My noble 
father ! the good, the devout, the heroic old man ! How, even 
under his mortal^ agony, his belief in God, in right, in immor- 
tality, shines forth ! Did ever an outcast creature apply to him 
in vain for help ? Quick tofresent, how much quicker he was to 
forgive ! The soul of rectitude and truth ! Did you ever see his 
seal, Charles ? A straight line, with the motto Omnium brevis- 
sima recta ! But he could not bow to Slavery as the supreme 
good. For that he and his must be slaughtered ! And William, 
the brave and gentle ! And Emily, the tenderly-bred and 
beautiful ! And my sainted — ” 

He knelt, and, raising both arms to heaven, cried : “ Hear 
me, O God ! Eternal Justice, hear me ! If ever again, in 
thought or act, I show mercy to this merciless Slave Power, — 
if ever again I palliate its crimes or utter a word. in extenua- 
tion of its horrors, — that moment annihilate me as a wretch 
unfit either for this world or any other ! ” 

Then, rising, he said, “ Kenrick, your hand ! ” 

“ Not yet,” said Kenrick. “ My friend, Slavery is no worse 
to-day than it was yesterday. You have known for the last 
three months that these minions and hirelings of the slave aris- 
tocracy were hounding, hanging, and torturing men through- 


332 


PECULIAR. 


out Slavedom, for the crime of being true to their country’s 
flag.” 

“ I knew it, Kenrick ; but my heart was hardened, and there- 
fore have God’s hammers smitten it thrice, — nay, four times, 
terribly ! I saw these things, but turned away from them ! 
Idle and false to say, Slavery is not responsible for them ! 
They are the very spawn of its filthy loins. I know it, — I, 
who have been behind the scenes, know what the leaders say 
as to the means of treading out every spark of Union fire. And 
I — heedless idiot that I was ! — never once thought that the 
bloody instructions might return to plague me, — that my own 
• father’s family might be among the foremost victims ! I ac- 
knowledge the hand of God in this stroke ! A voice cries to me, 
as of old to Saul, ‘ Why persecutest thou me ? ’ And now 
there fall from my eyes as it were scales, and I arise and am 
baptized ! ” 

“ My dear friend,” said Kenrick, “ I want your conversion to 
be, not the result of mere passion, but of calm conviction. I 
have been asking myself, What if a party of Unionists should 
outrage and murder those who are nearest and dearest to 
myself, — would I, therefore, embrace the pro-slavery cause ? 
And from the very depths of my •soul, I can cry No ! Not 
through passion, — though I have enough of that, — but 
through the persuasion of my intellect, added to the affirma- 
tion of my heart, do I array myself against this hideous Moloch 
of slavery. By a terrible law of affinity, wrongs and crimes 
cannot stand alone. They must summon other wrongs and 
crimes to their support ; and so does murder as naturally follow 
in the train of slavery, as the little parasite fish follows the 
shark. It is fallacy to say that the best men among slave- 
holders do not approve of these outrages ; for these outrages 
are now the necessary and inseparable attendants of the sys- 
tem.” 

“ I believe it,” said Onslow. u 0 the wickedness of my 
apostasy from my father’s faith ! O the sin, and O the pun- 
ishment ! It needed a terrible blow to reach me, and it has 
come. Kenrick, do not withhold your hand. Trust me, my 
conversion is radical. The ‘ institution ’ shall henceforth find 
in me its deadliest foe. ‘ Delenda est!’ is now and henceforth 
my motto ! ” 


LIGHT FROM THE PIT. 


333 


Kenrick clasped his proffered hand, and, looking up, said, “ So 
prosper us, Almighty Disposer, as we are true to the promises 
of this hour ! ” 

“ Charles,” said Onslow, 44 I did not think that Perdita would 
so soon have her prayer granted.” 

44 What do you mean ? ” 

“ Her last words to me were, 4 May this arm never be lifted 
except in the cause of right ! ’ I feel that God has heard her.” 

It jarred on Kenrick’s heart for the moment to see that 
Onslow, in the midst of his troubles, still thought of Perdita ; 
but soon, stilling the selfish tremor, he said : 44 What we would 
do we must do quickly. Will you go North with me and join 
the armies of the Union?” 

44 Yes, the first opportunity.” 

44 That opportunity will be this very night.” 

44 So much the better ! I ’m ready. I had but one tie to 
bind me here ; and that was Perdita. And she has fled. And 
what would I be to her, were she here ? Nothing ! Charles, 
this day’s news has made me ten years older already. O for 
an army with banners, to go down into that bloody region of 
the Rio Grande, and right the wrongs of the persecuted ! ” 

44 Be patient. We shall live to see the old flag wave re- 
splendent over free and regenerated Texas.” 

44 Amen ! Good heavens, Charles ! — it appalls me, when I 
think what a different man I am from what I was when I 
crossed this threshold, one little hour ago ! ” 

44 In these volcanic days,” said Kenrick, 44 such changes are 
not surprising. These terrible eruptions, 4 painting hell on the 
sky,’ uptear many old convictions, and illumine many benighted 
minds.” 

44 Yes,” rejoined Onslow, 44 in that infernal flash, coming from 
my own violated home, I see slavery as it is, — monstrous, 
bestial, devilish ! — no longer the graceful, genteel, hospitable, 
and fascinating embodiment which I — fond fool that I was ! — 
have been wont to think it. The Republicans of the North 
were right in declaring that not one inch more of national soil 
should be surrendered to the pollutions of slavery.” ' 

44 Time flies,” said Kenrick. 44 Have you any preparations 
to make ? ” 


334 


PECULIAR. 


“ Yes, a few bills to pay and a few letters to write.” 

“ Can you despatch all your work by quarter to nine ? ” 

“ Sooner, if need be.” 

“ That will answer. Have your baggage ready, and let it be 
compact as possible. I ’ll call for you at your room at quarter 
to nine. Yance goes with us.” 

“ Is it possible ? I supposed him an ultra Secessionist.” 

“ He has a stronger personal cause than even you to strike 
at slavery.” 

“ Can that be ? Well, he shall find me no tame ally. Do 
you know, Charles, you resemble him personally ? ” 

“ Yes, there ’s good reason for it. We are cousins.” 

Onslow’s heart was too full to comment on the reply. He 
took up the strands of hair, kissed them fervently, and placed 
them with his father’s letter in a little silk watch-bag, which he 
pinned inside of his vest just over his heart. 

“ If ever my new faith should falter,” he said, “ here are the 
mementos that will revive it. God ! Did I need all this for 
my reformation?” 

“ Be firm, — be prudent, my friend,” said Kenrick. “ And 
now good by till we meet again.” 

Onslow pressed Kenrick’s proffered hand, and replied, “ You 
shall find me punctual.” 


THE COMMITTEE ADJOURNS. 


335 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE COMMITTEE ADJOURNS. 

“ Why now, blow, wind ; swell, billow ; and swim, bark ! 

The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.” — Shakspeare. 

Y ANCE’S plan was to escape down the river in his little 
steam-tug, and join some one of the blockading fleet of 
the United States, either at Pass a l’Outre or at the Balize. 
The unexpected accession of two fellow-fugitives led him to 
postpone his departure from the St. Charles to nine o’clock. 
His own and Kenrick’s baggage had been providently put on 
board the Artful Dodger the day before. Winslow, in order 
not to jeopard any of the proceedings, had accepted Vance’s 
offer to get from the latter’s supply whatever articles of ap- 
parel he might need. 

At ten minutes before nine, the four fugitives met in Vance’s 
room. Vance and Onslow grasped each other by the hand. 
That silent pressure conveyed to each more than words could 
ever have told. The sympathy between them was at once pro- 
found and complete. 

“ The negro who is to drive us,” said Vance, “ is the man 
to whom your father confided his last messages.” 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed Onslow ; “ let me be with him. Let me 
learn from him all I can!” 

Vance told him he should ride on the outside with Peek. 
Then turning to Winslow, he said : “ Those white locks of 
yours are somewhat too conspicuous. Do me the favor to hide 
them under this black wig.” 

The disguise was promptly carried into effect. At nine 
o’clock Vance put his head out of the window. A rain-storm 
had set in, but he could see by the gas-lights the glistening top 
of a carriage, and he could hear the stamping of horses. 

“ All right,” said he. “ Peek is punctually on the spot. 
Does that carpet-bag contain all your baggage, Mr. Onslow ? ” 


836 


PECULIAR. 


“ Yes, and I can dispense with even this, if you desire it.” 

“ You have learnt one of the first arts of the soldier, I see,” 
said Yance. “There can be no harm in your taking that 
amount. Now let me frankly tell you what I conceive to be 
our chief, if not our only hazard. My venerable friend, here, 
Winslow, was compelled, a few hours since, in the discharge of 
his duty, to give very dire offence to Mr. Carberry Ratcliff, of 
whom we all have heard. Knowing the man as I do, I am of 
opinion that his first step on parting with our friend would be 
to put spies on his track, with the view of preventing his de- 
parture or concealment. Mr. Winslow thinks Ratcliff could 
not have had time to do this. Perhaps ; but there ’s a chance 
my venerable friend is mistaken, and against that contingency 
I wish to be on my guard. You see I take in my hand this 
lasso, and this small cylindrical piece of wood, padded with 
india-rubber at either end. Three of us, I presume, have re- 
volvers ; but I hope we shall have no present use for them. 
You, Mr. Winslow, will go first and enter the carriage ; Ken- 
rick and I will follow at ten or a dozen paces, and you, Onslow, 
will bring up the rear. In your soldier’s overcoat, and with 
your carpet-bag, it will be supposed you are merely going out 
to pass the night at the armory.” 

While this conversation was going on, Peek had dismounted 
from the driver’s seat. He had taken the precaution to coven 
both the horses and the carriage with oil-cloth, apparently as a 
protection against the rain, but really to prevent an identifica- 
tion. No sooner had his feet touched the side-walk, than a 
man carrying a bludgeon stepped up to him and said, “ Whose 
turn-out have you here, darkey ? ” 

“ Dis am massa’s turn-out, an’ nobody else’s, sure,” said 
Peek, disguising his voice. 

“ Well, who ’s massa ? ” 

“ Massa ’s de owner ob dis carriage. Thar, yer ’v got it. So 
dry up, ole feller!” 

The inquirer tried to roll up the oil-cloth to get a sight of 
the panel. Peek interposed, telling him to stand off. The 
man raised his bludgeon and threatened to strike. Peek’s first 
impulse was to disarm him and choke him into silence, but, 
fearing the least noise might bring other officers to the spot, 


THE COMMITTEE ADJOURNS. 


337 


he prudently abstained. Just at this moment, Winslow issued 
from the side door of the hotel, and was about to enter the car- 
riage, when the detective who had succeeded in rolling up the 
I covering of the panel till he could see the coat-of-arms, politely 
| stopped the old man, and begged permission to look at him 
closely by the gaslight, remarking that he had orders from 
|| head-quarters to arrest a certain suspected party. 

“ Pooh ! Everybody in New Orleans knows me,” said 
Winslow. 

| ' “I can’t help that, sir,” said the detective, laying his hand 
; on the old man’s shoulder, “ I must insist on your letting — ” 

Before the speaker could finish his sentence, his arms were 
j pinioned from behind by a lasso, and he was jerked back so as 
to lose his balance. But one articulation escaped from his lips, 
and that was half smothered in his throat. “ O’ Gorman ! ” he 
cried, calling to one of his companions ; but before he could 
repeat the cry, a gag was inserted in his mouth, and he was 
lifted into the carriage and there held with a power that speed- 
ily taught him how useless was resistance. 

Kenrick made Peek and Onslow acquainted, and these two 
sprang on to the driver’s seat. The rest of the party took 
their places inside. 

“ Down ! down ! ” cried Peek, thrusting Onslow down on 
his knees and starting the horses. The next moment a pistol 
was discharged, and there was the whiz of a bullet over their 
heads. But the horses had now found out what was wanted of 
them, and they showed their blood by trotting at a two-fifty 
speed along St. Charles Street. 

Peek was an accomplished driver. That very afternoon he 
had learnt where the steam-tug lay, and had gone over the 
route in order to be sure of no obstructions. He now at first 
took a direction away from the river to deceive pursuit. Then 
winding through several obscure streets, he came upon the 
avenue running parallel with the Levee, and proceeded for 
nearly two miles till he drew near that part of the river where 
the Artful Dodger, with steam all up, was moored against the 
extensive embankment, from the top of which you can look 
down on the floor of the Crescent City, lying several feet 
below the river’s level. 

15 


T 


338 


PECULIAR. 


The min continued to pour furiously, each drop swelling to 
the size of a big arrow-head before reaching the earth. It was 
not unusual to see carriages driven at great speed through the 
streets during such an elementary turmoil : else the policemen 
or soldiers would have tried to stop Peek in his headlong 
career. Probably they had most of them got under some shel- 
ter, and did not care to come out to expose themselves to a 
drenching. On and on rolled the carriage. The rain seemed 
to drown all noises, so that the occupants could not tell whether 
or no there was a trampling of horses in pursuit. 

As the carnage passed on to a macadamized section of the 
road, “ Tell me,” said Onslow, “ what happened after my father 
gave you the letter ? ” 

“ I hardly had time to conceal it,” replied Peek, “ when six 
of the ruffians entered the room, and I was ordered out. I 
pleaded hard to stay, but ’t was no use. The house was en- 
tirely surrounded by armed men, ready to shoot down any one 
attempting to escape. Your father had enjoined it upon me 
that I should leave him to die rather than myself run the risk 
of not reaching you with his letter and his messages.” 

“ Did he? ’’cried Onslow. “Was he, then, more anxious 
that I should know all, than that he himself should escape ? ” 

“ He feared life more than death after what had happened,” 
said Peek. “ The six ruffians tried to get out of him words to 
implicate certain supposed Union men in the neighborhood ; 
but he would tell no secrets. He obstinately resisted their 
orders and threats, and at last their leader, in a rage, thrust 
his sword into the old man’s lungs. The wound did not imme- 
diately kill ; but the loss of blood seemed likely to make him 
faint. F earing he would balk them in their last revenge, the 
ruffians dragged him out to a tree and hung him.” 

“ Did you see it done ? ” 

“ I saw him the moment after it was done. I had been 
trying to satisfy myself that there was no life in your mother’s 
body ; and it was not till I heard the shouts of the crowd that 
I learnt what was going on below. I ran out, but your father 
was already dead. He died, I learnt, without a struggle, much 
to the disappointment of the Rebels.” 

“ And my mother,” asked Onslow. “ Was there any hope ? ” 




THE COMMITTEE ADJOURNS. 


339 




* None whatever, sir. She was undoubtedly dead.” 

“ Peek, you have a claim upon me henceforth. At present 
I ’ve but little money with me, but what I have you must take.” 

“ Not a penny, sir ! You ’ll need it more than I. Mr. Yance 
and Mr. Winslow have supplied me with ten times as much as 
I shall require.” 

Onslow said no more. For the first time in his life he felt 
| that a negro could be a gentleman and his equal. 

“ Peek,” said he, “ you may refuse my money, but you must 
not refuse my friendship and respect. Promise me you will 
seek me if I can ever aid you. Nay, promise me you will visit 
me when you can.” 

“ That I do cheerfully, sir. Here we are close by the 
steam-tug.” 


Peek pulled up the horses, and he and Onslow jumped to 
the ground. The door was opened, and those inside got out. 
The detective, who was the principal man of his order in New 
Orleans (Myers himself), and whose mortification at being 
overreached by a non-professional person was extreme, made 
a desperate effort to escape. Yance was ready for it. He 
simply twisted the lasso till Myers cried out with pain and 
promised to submit. Then pitching him on board the steam- 
tug, Vance left him under the guard of Kenrick and the Cap- 
tain. Winslow followed them on board ; and Vance, turning 
to Peek, said : “ Now, Peek, drive for dear life, and take back 
your horses. Our danger is almost over ; but yours is just 
beginning.” 

“ Never fear for me, Mr. Yance. I could leave the horses 
and run, in case of need. Do not forget the telegraph wires.” 

“ Well thought of, Peek ! Farewell ! ” 

They interchanged a quick, strong grasp of the hand, and 
Peek jumped on the box and drove off. 

Yance saw a telegraph-pole close by, the wires of which 
communicated with the forts on the river below. Climbing to 
the top of it, he took fromdiis pocket a knife, having a file on 
one of its blades, and in half a minute severed the wire, then 
tied it by a string to the pole so that the place of the discon- 
nection might not be at once discovered. 

The next moment he cast off the hawser and leaped on 


340 


PECULIAR. 


board the tug. Everything was in readiness. Captain Pay- 
son was in his glory. The pipes began to snort steam, the 
engines to move, and the little tug staggered off into the river. 
Hardly were they ten rods from the levee, however, when a 
carriage drove up, and a man issued from it who cried : “ Boat 
ahoy ! Stop that boat ! Every man of you shall be hung if 
you don’t stop that boat.” 

Captain Payson took up his speaking-trumpet, and replied : 
“ Come and stop it yourself, you blasted bawler ! ” 

“ By order of the Confederate authorities I call on you to 
stop that boat,” screamed the officer. 

“ The Confederate authorities may go to hell ! ” returned old 
Payson. 

The retort of the officer was lost in the mingled uproar of 
winds and waves. 

Confounded at the steam-tug’s defiance, the officer, O’ Gor- 
man by name, stood for a minute gesticulating and calling out 
wildly, and then, re-entering the carriage, told the driver to 
make his best speed to Number 17 Diana Street. 

Let us precede him by a few minutes and look in upon the 
select company there assembled. In a stately apartment some 
dozen of the principal Confederate managers sat in conclave. 
Prominent among them were Ratcliff, and by his side his law- 
yer, Semmes, an attenuated figure, sharp-faced and eager-eyed. 
Complacent, but inwardly cursing the Rebellion, sat Robson 
w r ith his little puffed eyes twinkling through gold-rimmed spec- 
tacles, and his fat cheeks indicating good cheer. It w r as with 
difficulty he could repress the sarcasms that constantly rose to 
his lips. Wigman and Sanderson were of the company ; and 
the rest of the members were nearly all earnest Secessionists 
and gentlemen of position. 

Ratcliff had communicated* his grievances, and it had been 
decided to send a messenger to bring Winslow before the con- 
clave to answer certain questions as to his disposition of the 
funds confided to him by the late Mrs. Ratcliff. The messen- 
ger having returned once with the information that Winslow 
was not at home, had been sent a second time wdth orders to 
wait for him till ten o’clock. 

It had been also resolved to summon Charles Kenrick before 


THE COMMITTEE ADJOURNS. 


841 


the conclave, and an officer had been sent to the hotel for that 
purpose. 

There was now a discussion as to Yance. Who knew him ? 
No one intimately. Several had a mere bowing acquaintance 
with him. Ratcliff could not remember that he had ever seen 
him. Had Yance contributed to the cause ? Yes. He had 
paid a thousand dollars for the relief of the suffering at the 
hospital. Did anybody know what he was worth ? A cotton- 
broker present knew of his making “ thirty thousand dollars 
clean” in one operation in the winter of 1858. Did he own 
any real estate in the city ? His name was not down in the 
published list of holders. If he owned any, it was probably 
held under some other person’s name. Among tax-payers he 
was rated at only fifty thousand dollars ; but he might have an 
income from property in other places, perhaps at the North, 
on which he ought to pay hi^ quota in this hour of common 
danger. It was decided to send to see why Yance did not 
come ; and a third officer was despatched to find him. 

u Does any one know,” asked Semmes, “ whether Captain 
Onslow has yet got the news of this terrible disaster to his 
family in Texas ? ” 

“ The intelligence has but just reached us at head-quarters,” 
replied Mr. Ferrand, a wealthy Creole. “ I hope it will not 
shake the Captain’s loyalty to the good cause.” 

“ Why should it ? ” inquired Ratcliff. 

“ He must be a spooney to let it make any difference,” said 
Sanderson. 

“ Some people are so weak and prejudiced ! ” replied Robson. 
« Tell them the good of the institution requires that their whole 
family should be disembowelled, and they can’t see it. Tell 
them that though their sister was outraged, yet ’t was in the 
holy cause of slavery, and it does n’t satisfy ’em. Such sordid 
souls, incapable of grand sacrifices, are too common.” 

“ That ’s a fact,” responded George Sanderson, who was get- 
ting thirsty, and adhered to Robson 'as to the genius of good 
liquor. 

“ Old Onslow deserved his fate,” said Mr. Curry, a fiery little 
man, resembling Vice-President Stephens. 

« To be sure he deserved it ! ” returned Robson. “ And so 


342 


PECULIAR. 


did that heretical young girl, his daughter, deserve hers. Why, 
it ’s asserted, on good authority, that she had been heard to re- 
peat Patrick Henry’s remark, that slavery is inconsistent with 
the Christian religion ! ” 

Mr. Polk, who, being related to a bishop, thought it was 
incumbent on him to rebuke extreme sentiments, here mildly 
remarked : “ We do not make war on young girls and women. 
I ’m sorry our friends in Texas should resort to such violent 
practices.” 

“ Let us have no half-way measures ! ” exclaimed Robson. 
“We can’t check feminine treason by sprinkling rose-water.” 

“ The rankest Abolitionists are among the women,” inter- 
posed Ratcliff. 

“ No doubt of it,” replied Robson. “ Or if a woman is n’t an 
Abolitionist herself, she may become the mother of one. An 
ounce of precaution is worth a ppund of cure.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said Mr. Polk, “ I base my support of slavery 
on evangelical principles, and they teach me to look upon rape 
and murder as crimes.” 

“ It will do very well for you and the bishops,” replied Rob- 
son, “ to tell the hoi polloi , — the people, — that slavery is 
evangelical ; but here in this snug little coterie, we must n’t 
try to fool each other, — ’t would n’t be civil. We ’ll take it 
for granted there are no greenhorns among us. We can there- 
fore afford to speak plainly. Slavery is based on the principle 
that might makes right , and on no other.” 

“ That ’s the talk,” said Ratcliff. 

“ That being the talk,” continued Robson, “ let us face the 
music without dodging. The object of this war is to make 
the slaveholding interest, more than it has ever been before, 
the ruling interest of America ; to propagate, extend, and at 
the same time consolidate slavery ; to take away all governing 
power from the people and vest it in the hands of a committee 
of slaveholders, who will regard the wealth and power of their 
order as paramount to all other considerations and laws, hu- 
man or divine. I presume there ’s nobody here who will deny 
this.” 

“ Is it quite prudent to make such declarations ? ” asked Mr. 
Polk, in a deprecatory tone. 


THE COMMITTEE ADJOURNS. 


343 


“ Is there any one here, sir, you want to hoodwink ? ” re- 
turned Robson. 

“ O no, no ! ” replied Mr. Polk. “ I presume we are all 
qualified to understand the esoteric meaning of the Rebellion.” 

“ It is no longer esoteric,” said Robson. “ The doctrine is 
openly proclaimed. What says Spratt of South Carolina? 
What says Toombs? What De Bow, Fitzhugh, Grayson, 
the Richmond papers, Trescott, Cobb? They are openly in 
favor of an aristocracy, and against popular rights.” 

Before any reply was made, there was a knock at the door, 
and Ratcliff was called out. In three minutes he returned, his 
face distorted with anger and excitement. “ Gentlemen,” said 
he, “ we are the victims of an infernal Yankee trick. I have 
reason to believe that Winslow, aided perhaps by other sus- 
pected parties, has made his escape this very night in a little 
steam-tug that has been lying for some days in the river, ready 
for a start.” 

“ Which way has it gone ? ” asked Semmes. 

“ Down the river. Probably to Pass h l'Outre.” 

“ Telegraph to the forts to intercept her,” said Semmes. 

u A good idea ! ” exclaimed Ratcliff. “ I ’d do it at once.” 
lie joined O’ Gorman outside, and the next moment a carriage 
was heard rolling over the pavements. 

“ Gentlemen,” said Robson, “ if we expect to see any of the 
parties we have summoned here to-night, there is something so 
touching and amiable in our credulity that I grieve to harshly 
dispel it. But let me say that Mr. Kenrick would see us all 
in the profoundest depths before he would put himself in our 
power or acknowledge our jurisdiction ; Mr. Yance can keep 
liis own counsel and will not brook dictation, or I ’m no judge 
of physiognomy; Captain Onslow has a foolish sensitiveness 
which leads him to resent murder and outrage when practised 
against his own family ; and as for old Winslow, he has n’t 
lived seventy years not to know better than to place himself 
-within reach of a tiger’s claws. I think we may as well ad- 
journ, and muse over the mutability of human affairs.” 

Before Robson’s proposition was carried into effect, an 
errand-boy from the telegraph-office brought Semmes this 
letter : — 


344 


PECULIAR. 


“ The scoundrels have cut the telegraph wires, and we can’t 
communicate with the forts. I leave here at once to engage a 
boat for the pursuit. Shall go in her myself. You must do 
this one thing for me without fail: Take up your abode at 
once, this very night, in my house, and stay there till I come 
back. Use every possible precaution to prevent another es- 
cape of that young person of whom I spoke to you. Do not 
let her move a step out of doors without you or your agents 
know precisely where she is. I shall hold you responsible for 
her security. I may not be back for a day or two, in which 
ease you must have my wife’s interment properly attended to. 

“ Yours, Ratcliff.” 

“ I agree with Mr. Robson,” said Semmes, “ that we may as 
well adjourn. The telegraph wires are Cut, and I should not 
wonder if all the summoned parties were among the fugitives. 
Ratcliff pursues.” 

The select assemblage broke up, and above the curses, freely 
uttered, rang the sardonic laugh of Robson. “ Two to one that 
Ratcliff does n’t catch them ! ” said he ; but no one took up the 
bet, though it should be remembered, in defence of Wigman 
and Sanderson, that they were too busy in the liquor-closet to 
heed the offer. 

“Ah! my pious friends, — still at it, I see!” exclaimed 
Robson, coming in upon them. “ You remind me of a French 
hymn I leamt in my youth : 

‘ Tous les m^chants sont buveurs d’eau; 

C’est bien prouv£ par le deluge ! ’ 

Which, for Sanderson’s benefit, I will translate : 

‘ Who are the wicked? Why, water-drinkers ! 

The deluge proves it to all right thinkers.’ ” 

Leaving the trio over their cups, let us follow the enraged 
Ratcliff in his adventures subsequent to his letter to Semmes. 

The Rebel was a boat armed with a one-hundred-pound rifled 
gun, and used for occasional reconnoitring expeditions down 
the river. Ratcliff had no difficulty in inducing the captain to 
put her on the chase ; but an hour was spent hunting up the 
engineer and getting ready. At last the Rebel was started in 
pursuit. The rain had ceased, and the moon, bursting occa- 
sionally from dark drifting clouds, shed a fitful light. Ratcliff 
paced the deck, smoking cigars, and nursing his rage. 


THE COMMITTEE ADJOURNS. 


345 


It was nearly sunrise before they reached Forts Jackson and 
St. Philip, thirty-three miles above the Balize. Nothing could 
yet be seen of the steam-tug ; but there was a telltale pillar 
of smoke in the distance. “We shall have her!” said Rat- 
cliff, exultingly. 

Following in the trail of the Rebel were numerous sea-gulls 
whom the storm had driven up the river. The boat now en- 
tered that long canal-like section where the great river flows 
between narrow banks, which, including the swamps behind 
them, are each not more than two or three hundred yards 
wide, running out into the Gulf of Mexico. Here and there 
among the dead reeds and scattered willows a tall white crane 
might be seen feeding. Over these narrow fringes of swampy 
land you could see the dark-green waters of the Gulf just be- 
ginning to be incarnadined by the rising sun. With the salt- 
water so near on either side that you could shoot an arrow into 
it, you saw the river holding its way through the same deep, 
unbroken channel, keeping unmixed its powerful body of fresh 
water, except when hurricanes sweep the briny spray over 
these long ribbons of land into the Mississippi. 

Vance had abandoned his original intention of trying the 
Pass k l’Outre. Having learned from a pilot that the Brook- 
lyn, carrying the Stars and Stripes, was cruising off the South- 
west Pass, he resolved to steer in that direction. But when 
within five miles of the head of the Passes, one of those capri- 
cious fogs, not uncommon on the river, came down, shrouding 
the banks on either side. The Artful Dodger crept along at 
an abated speed through the sticky vapor. Soon the throb of 
a steamer close in the rear could be distinctly heard. The 
Artful had but one gun, and that was a 5-inch rifled one ; but 
it could be run out over her after bulwarks. 

All at once the fog lifted, and the sun came out sharp and 
dazzling, scattering the white banks of vapor. The Rebel 
midit be seen not a third of a mile off. A shot came from her 
as a signal to the Artful to heave to. Vance ordered the Stars 
and Stripes to be run up, and the engines to be reversed. The 
Rebel, as if astounded at the audacity of the act on the part 
of her contemptible adversary, swayed a little in the current 
so as to present a good part of her side. Vance saw his oppor- 
15 * 


346 


PECULIAR. 


tunity, and, with the quickness of one accustomed to dead- 
shots, decided on his range. The next moment, and before the 
Rebel could recover herself, he fired, the shock racking every 
joint in the little tug. 

The effect of the shot was speedily visible and audible in 
the issuing of steam and in cries of suffering on board the 
Rebel. The boiler had been hit, and she was helpless. Vance 
fired a second shot, but this time over her, as a summons for 
surrender. The confederate flag at once disappeared. The 
next moment a small boat, containing half a dozen persons, 
put out from the Rebel as if they intended to gain the bank 
and escape among the low willows and dead reeds of the 
marshy deposits. But before this could be done, two cutters 
bearing United States flags, were seen to issue from a diminu- 
tive bayou in the neighborhood, and intercept the boat, which 
was taken in tow by the larger cutter. The Artful Dodger 
then steamed up to the disabled Rebel and took possession. 

At the mouth of the Southwest Pass they met the Brooklyn. 
Vance went on board, found in the Commodore an old acquaint- 
ance, and after recounting the adventures of the last twelve 
hours, gave up the two steamers for government use. It was 
then arranged that he and his companions should take passage 
on board the store-ship Catawba, which was to sail for New 
York within the hour ; while all the persons captured on board 
the Rebel, together with the detective carried off by Vance, 
should be detained as prisoners and sent North in an armed 
steamer, to leave the next day. 

“ There ’s one man,” said Vance, — “ his name is Ratcliff, — 
who will try by all possible arts and pleadings to get away. 
Hold on to him, Commodore, as you would to a detected incen- 
diary. ’T is all the requital I ask for my little present to 
Uncle Sam.” 

“He shall be safe in Fort Lafayette before the month is 
out,” replied the Commodore. “ I ’ll take your word for it, 
Vance, that he is n’t to be trusted.” 

“ One word more, Commodore. My crew on board the little 
tug are all good men and true. Old Skipper Payson, whom 
you see yonder, goes into this fight, not for wages, but for love. 
He has but one fault ! ” 


THE COMMITTEE ADJOURNS. 


347 


u What ’s that ? Drinks, I suppose ! ” 

“ No. lie ’s a terrible Abolitionist.” 

“ So much the better ! We shall all be Abolitionists before 
this war is ended. ’T is the only way to end it.” 

“ Good, my Commodore ! Such sentiments from men in 
your position will do as much as rifled cannon for the cause.” 

“ More, Mr. Vance, more ! And now duty calls me off. Your 
men, sir, shall be provided for. Good by.” 

Vance and the Commodore shook hands and parted. Vance 
was rowed back to the Artful Dodger. On his way, looking 
through his opera-glass, he could see- Ratcliff in the cutter, 
gnawing his rage, and looking the incarnation of chagrin. 

The Catawba was making her toilet ready for a start. She 
,lay at a short distance from the Artful. Vance, Winslow, Ken- 
rick, and Onslow went on board, where the orders of the Com- 
modore had secured for them excellent accommodations. Before 
noon a northeasterly breeze had sprung up, and they took their 
leave of the mouths of the Mississippi. 

Ratcliff no sooner touched the deck of the Brooklyn* than, 
conquering with an effort his haughtiness, he took off his hat, 
and, approaching the Commodore, asked for an interview. 

The Commodore was an old weather-beaten sailor, not far 
from his threescore and ten years. He kept no “ circumlocu- 
tion office ” on board his ship, and as he valued his time, ho 
could not tolerate any tortuous delays in coming to the point. 

“ Commodore,” said Ratcliff, “ ’t is important I should have a 
few words with you immediately.” 

“ Well, sir, be quick about it.” 

“ Commodore, I have long known you by reputation as a 
man of honor. I have often heard Commodore Tatnall — ” 

“ The damned old traitor ! Well sir ? ” 

" I beg pardon ; I supposed you and Tatnall were intimate.” 

u So we were ! Loved him once as my own brother. He 
and I and Percival have had many a jolly time together. But 
now, damn him ! The man who could trample on the old flag 
that had protected and honored and enriched him all his life 
is no better than a beast. So damn him ! Don’t let me hear 
his name again.” 

“I beg pardon, Commodore. As I was saying, we know 
you to be a gentleman — ” 


848 


PECULIAR. 


“ Stop ! I’m an officer in the United States service. That ’s 
the only capacity I shall allow you to address me in. Your 
salvy compliments make me sick. What do you want ? ” 

“ It ’s necessary I should return at once to New Orleans.” 

“ Indeed ! How do you propose to get there ? ” 

“ When you hear my story, you ’ll give me the facilities.” 

“ Don’t flatter yourself. I shall do no such thing.” 

“ But, Commodore, I came out in pursuit of an unfaithful 
agent, who was running off with my property.” 

“ Hark you, sir, when you speak in those terms of Simon 
Winslow, you lie, and deserve the cat.” 

Ratcliff grew purple in the struggle to suppress an outburst 
of wrath. But, after nearly a minute of silence, he said : 
“ Commodore, my wife died only a few hours ago. Her un- 
buried remains lie in my house. Surely you ’ll let me return 
to attend her funeral. You ’ll not be so cruel as to refuse me.” 

“ Pah ! Does your dead wife need your care any more than 
my live wife needs mine ? ’T is your infernal treason keeps me 
here. Can you count the broken hearts and ruined constitu- 
tions you have already made, — the thousands you have sent 
to untimely graves, — in this attempt to carry out your beastly 
nigger-breeding, slavery-spreading speculation ? And now you 
presume to whine because I ’ll not let you slip back to hatch 
more treason, under the pretence that you want to go to a fun- 
eral ! As if you had n’t made funerals enough already in the 
land ! Curse your impudence, sir ! Be thankful I don’t string 
you up to the yard-arm. Here, Mr. Buttons, see that this fellow 
is placed among the prisoners and strictly guarded. I hold you 
responsible for him, sir ! ” 

The Commodore turned on his heel and left Ratcliff panting 
with an intolerable fury that he dared not vent. Big drops of 
perspiration came out on his face. The Midshipman, playfully 
addressed as Mr. Buttons, was a very stern-looking gentleman, 
of the name of Adams, who wore on his coat a very conspicu- 
ous row of buttons, and whose fourteenth birthday had been 
celebrated one week before. Motioning to Ratcliff, and frown- 
ing imperiously, he stamped his foot and exclaimed, “ Follow 
me i ” The slave-lord, with an internal half-smothered groan 
of rage and despair, saw that there was no help, and obeyed. 


THE OCCUPANT OF THE WHITE HOUSE. 


349 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


THE OCCUPANT OF THE WHITE HOUSE. 


“ They forbore to break the chain 
■Which bound the dusky tribe, 

Checked by the owner’s fierce disdain, 
Lured by ‘ Union ’ as the bribe. 
Destiny sat by and said, 

‘ Pang for pang your seed shall pay ; 
Hide in false peace your coward head, — 
I bring round the harvest-day.’ ” 


R. W. Emerson. 



N one of the smaller parlors of the White House in Wash- 


i ington sat two men of rather marked appearance. One of 
them sat leaning back in his tipped chair, with his thumbs in 
the arm-holes of his vest, and his right ancle resting on his 
left knee. His figure, though now flaccid and relaxed, would 
evidently be a tall one if pulled out like the sliding joints of 
a spy-glass ; but gaunt, lean, and ungainly, with harsh angles 
and stooping shoulders. He was dressed in a suit of black, 
with a black satin vest, and round his neck a black silk ker- 
chief tied carelessly in a knot, and passing under a shirt-collar 
turned down and revealing a neck brawny, sinewy, and tanned. 

The face that belonged to this figure was in keeping with it, 
and yet attractive from a certain charm of expression. Nose 
prominent and assertive ; cheek-bones rather obtrusive, and 
under them the flesh sallow and browned, though partially cov- 
ered by thick bristling black whiskers ; eyes dark and deeply 
set ; mouth and lips large ; and crowning all these features a 
shock of stiff profuse black hair carelessly put aside from his 
irregularly developed forehead, as if by no other comb than 
that which he could make of his long lank fingers. 

Tins man was not only the foremost citizen of the Republic, 
officially considered, but he had a reputation, exaggerated be- 
yond his deserts, for homeliness. By the Rebel press he was 
frequently spoken of as u the ape ” or the u gorilla.” F rom 


350 


PECULIAR. 


the rowdy George Sanderson to the stiff, if not stately Jeffer- 
son Davis (himself far from being an Adonis), the pro-slavery 
champions took a harmless satisfaction, in their public addresses, 
in alluding, in some contemptuous epithet, to the man’s personal 
shortcomings. So far from being disturbed, the object of all 
these revilings would himself sometimes playfully refer to his 
personal attractions, unconscious how much there was in that 
face to redeem it from being truly characterized either as ugly 
or commonplace. 

As he sat now, with eyes bent on vacancy, and his mind 
revolving the arguments or facts which had been presented by 
his visitor, his countenance assumed an expression which was 
pathetic in' its indication of sincere and patient effort to grasp 
the truth and see clearly the way before him. The expression 
redeemed the whole countenance, for it was almost tender in 
its anxious yet resigned thoughtfulness ; in its profound sense 
of the enormous and unparalleled responsibilities resting on 
that one brain, perplexing it in the extreme. 

The other party to the interview was a man whose personal 
appearance was in marked contrast. Although he had num- 
bered in his life nearly as many years as the President, he 
looked some ten years younger. His figure was strikingly 
handsome, compact, and graceful ; and his clothes weue nicely 
adapted to it, both in color and cut. Every feature of his face 
was finely outlined and proportioned ; and the whole expres- 
sion indicated at once refinement and energy, habits of intel- 
lectual culture and of robust physical exercise and endurance. 
This man was he who has passed so long in this story under 
the adopted name of Vance. 

There had been silence between the two for nearly a minute. 
Suddenly the President turned his mild dark eyes on his vis- 
itor, and said : “ Well, sir, what would you have me do ? ” 

“ I would have you lead public opinion, Mr. President, instead 
of waiting for public opinion to lead you.” 

“ Make this allowance for me, Mr. Vance : I have many 
conflicting interests to reconcile ; many conflicting facts and 
assertions to sift and weigh. Remember I am bound to listen, 
not merely to the men of New England, but to those of Ken- 
tucky, Maryland, and Eastern Tennessee.” 


THE OCCUPANT OF THE WHITE HOUSE. 


Sol 


“ Mr. President, you are bound to listen to no man who is 
not ready to say, Down with slavery if it stands in the way of 
the Republic ! You should at once infuse into every branch 
of the public service this determination to tear up the bitter 
root of all our woes. Why not give me the necessary authority 
to raise a black regiment ? ” 

“ Impossible ! The public are not ripe for any such extreme 
measure.’* 

“ There it is ! You mean that the public shall be the 
responsible President instead of Abraham Lincoln. 0, sir, 
knowing you are on the side of right, have faith in your own 
power to mould and quicken public opinion. When last Au- 
gust in Missouri, Fremont declared the slaves of Rebels free, 
one word of approval from you would have won the assent of 
every loyal man. But, instead of believing in the inherent 
force of a great idea to work its own way, you were biased by 
the semi-loyal men who were lobbying for slavery, and you 
countermanded the righteous order, thus throwing us back a 
whole year. Do I give offence ? ” 

“ No, sir, speak your mind freely. I love sincerity.” 

“We know very well, Mr. President, that you will do what 
is right eventually. But O, why not do it at once, and fore- 
stall the issue ? We know that you will one of these days 
remove Buell and other generals, the singleness of whose de- 
votion to the Union as against slavery is at least questionable. 
We know that you will ptit an end to the atrocious pro-slavery 
favoritism of many of our officers. We know you will issue a 
proclamation of emancipation.” 

“ I think not, Mr. Vance.” 

“ Pardon me, you will do it before next October. You will 
do it because the pressure of an advanced public opinion will 
force you to do it, and because God Almighty will interpose 
checks and defeats to our arms in order that we of the Nor th 
may, in the fermentation of ideas, throw off this foul scum, 
redolent of the bottomless pit, which apathy. or sympathy in 
regard to slavery engenders. Yes, you will give us an eman- 
cipation proclamation, and then you will give 'us permission to 
raise black regiments, and then, after being pricked, and urged, 
and pricked again, by public opinion, you will offset the Rebel 


352 


PECULIAE. 


threats of massacre by issuing a war bulletin declaring that 
the United States will protect her fighting men of whatever 
color, and that there must be life for life for every black soldier 
killed in violation of the laws of war.” 

“ But are you a prophet, Mr. Vance ? ” 

“ It requires no gift of prophecy, Mr. President, to foretell 
these things. It needs but full faith in the operation of Divine 
laws to anticipate all that I have prefigured. You refuse now 
to let me raise a black regiment. In less than ten months you 
will give me a carte blanche to enlist as many negroes as I can 
for the war.” 

“ Perhaps, — but I don’t see my way clear to do it yet.” 

“A great man,” said Vance, “ought to lead and fashion 
public opinion in stupendous emergencies like this, — ought to 
throw himself boldly on some great principle having its root in 
eternal justice, — ought to grapple it, cling to it, stake every- 
thing upon it, and make everything give way to it.” 

“ But I am not a great man, Mr. Vance,” said the President, 
with unaffected naivete. 

“ I believe your intentions are good and great, Mr. Presi- 
dent,” was the reply ; “ for what you supremely desire is, to do 
your duty.” 

“ Yes, I claim that much. Thank you.” 

“ Well, your duty is to take the most energetic measures for 
conquering a peace. Under the Constitution, the war power is 
committed to your hands. That power is not defined by the 
Constitution, for it is imprescriptible; regulated by interna- 
tional usage. That usage authorizes you to free the slaves of 
an enemy. Why not do it?” 

“ Would not a proclamation of emancipation from Abraham 
Lincoln be much like the Pope’s bull against the comet ? ” 

“ There is this difference : in the latter case, the fulmination 
is against what we have no reason to suppose is an evil ; in the 
former case, you would attack with moral weapons what you 
know to be a wrong and an injustice immediately under your 
eyes and within your reach. If it could be proved that the 
comet is an evil, the Pope’s bull would not seem to me an ab- 
surdity ; for I have faith in the operation of ideas, and in the 
triumph of truth and good throughout the universe . But the 


THE OCCUPANT OF THE WHITE HOUSE. 


353 


emancipation proclamation would not be futile ; for it would 
give body and impulse to an idea , and that idea one friendly 
to right and to progress.” 

The President rose, and, walking to the window, drummed a 
moment with his fingers abstractedly on the glass, then, return- 
ing to his chair, reseated himself and said : “ As Chief Magis- 
trate of the Republic, my first duty is to save it. If I can best 
do that by tolerating slavery, slavery shall be tolerated. If I 
can best do it by abolishing slavery, you may be sure I will try 
to abolish it. But I must n’t be biased by my feelings or my 
sentiments.” 

“ Why not? ” asked Vance. “ Do not all great moral truths 
originate in the feelings and the sentiments ? The heart’s 
policy is often the safest. Is not cruelty wrong because the 
heart proclaims it ? Is not despotism to be opposed because 
the heart detests it?” 

“ Mr. Vance, you eager philanthropists little know how hard 
it often is for less impulsive and more conservative men to 
withstand the urgency of those feelings that you give way to 
at once. But you have read history to little purpose if you do 
not know that the best cause may be jeoparded by the prema- 
ture and too radical movements of its friends. I have been 
blamed for listening to the counsels of Kentucky politicians 
and Missouri conservatives ; and yet if we had not held back 
Kentucky from the secession madness, she might have contrib- 
uted the straw that would have broken the camel’s back.” 

“ O Kentucky ! ” exclaimed Vance, “ I know thy works, 
that thou art neither cold nor hot. I would thou wert cold or 
hot. So then, because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor 
hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth ! Mr. President, the 
ruling powers in Kentucky would hand her over bound to Jeff 
Davis to-morrow, if they dared ; but they dare not do it. In 
the first place, they fear Uncle Sam and liis gunboats ; in the 
next place, they fear Kentuckians, of whom, thank God ! there 
are enough who do not believe in slavery ; and, lastly, they fear 
the nineteenth century and the spirit of the age. Better take 
counsel from the Rhetts and Spratts of Soutli Carolina than 
from the selfish politicians of Kentucky ! They will moor you 
to the platform of a false conservatism till the golden opportu- 

w 


354 


PECULIAR. 


nity slips by, and new thousands must be slaughtered before it 
can be recovered.” 

u Well, what would be your programme? ” 

“This, Mr. President: accept it as a foregone conclusion 
that slavery must be exterminated ; and then bend all your en- 
ergies on accelerating its extermination. We sometimes hear 
it said, ‘ What ! do you expect such a vast system — so inter- 
woven with the institutions of the South — to be uprooted and 
overthrown all at once ? ’ To which I reply, ‘ Yes ! The price 
paid has been already proportionate to the magnitude of the 
overthrow * Before the war is over, upwards of a million of 
men will have lost their lives in order that Slavery might try 
its experiment of establishing an independent slave empire. A 
million of men ! And there are not four millions of slaves in 
the country ! We will not take into account the treasure ex- 
pended, — the lands desolated, — the taxes heaped upon the 
people, — the ruin and anguish inflicted. It strikes me the 
price we have paid is big enough to offset the vastness of the 
social change. And, after all, it is not such a formidable job 
when you consider that there are not forty thousand men in the 
whole country who severally own as many as ten slaves. 
Why, in a single campaign we lose more soldiers than there 
are slaveholders having any considerable stake in the institu- 
tion. Experience has proved that there could be universal 
emancipation to-morrow without bad results to either master or 
slave, — with advantage, on the contrary, to both.” * 

“ Well, Mr. Vance, we will suppose the Mississippi opened ; 
New Orleans, Mobile, Charleston, and Richmond captured, — 
the Rebellion on its last legs ; — what then ? ” 

“ With the capture of New Orleans and Vicksburg, and the 
opening of the Mississippi, you have Secessia on the hip, and 
her utter subjugation, is merely a question of time. When she 
cries peccavi, and offers to give in, I would say to the people of 
the Rebel States : ‘ First , Slavery, the cause of this war, must 
be surrendered, to be disposed of at the discretion of the vic- 
tors. Secondly , you must so modify your constitutions that 
Slavery can never be re-established among you. Thirdly , 

* Our experience in South Carolina and Louisiana proves that there would 
be no danger, but, on the contrary, great good in instant emancipation. 


THE OCCUPANT OF THE WHITE HOUSE. 


355 


every anti-republican feature in your State governments must 
be abandoned. Fourthly , every loyal man must be restored 
to the property and the rights you may have robbed him of. 
Fifthly , no man offensively implicated in the Rebellion must 
represent any State in Congress. Sixthly , no man must be 
taxed against his will for any debt incurred through rebellion 
against the United States. Under these easy and honorable 
terms, I would readmit the seceded States to the Union ; and 
if these terms are refused, I would occupy and hold the States 
as conquered territory.” 

“ And could we reconcile such a course with a due regard to 
law ? ” 

“ Surely yes ; for the people in rebellion are at once subjects 
and belligerents. They are public enemies, and as such are 
entitled only to such privileges as we may choose to concede. 
They are subjects, and as such must fulfil their obligations to 
the Republic.” 

“ But you say nothing of confiscation,” Mr. Vance. 

“ I would be as generous as possible in this respect, Mr. 
President. Loyal men who have been robbed by the seces- 
sion fury must of course be reimbursed, and the families of 
those who have been hung for their loyalty must be provided 
for. I see no fairer way of doing this than by making the 
robbers give up their plunder, and by compelling the murderers 
to contribute to the wants of those they have orphaned. But 
beyond this I would be governed by circumstances as they 
might develop themselves. I would practice all the clemency 
and forbearance consistent with justice. Those landholders 
who should lend themselves fairly and earnestly to the work 
of substituting a system of paid labor for slavery should be 
entitled to the most generous consideration and encourage- 
ment, whatever their antecedents might have been. I would 
do nothing for vengeance and humiliation ; everything for the 
benefit of the Southern people themselves and their posterity. 
Questions of indemnification should not stand in the way of a 
restored Union.” 

“ Undoubtedly, Mr. Vance, the interests of the masses, North 
and South, are identical.” 

“ That is true, Mr. President, but it is what the Rebel leaders 


356 


PECULIAR. 


try to conceal from their dupes. The most damnable effect of 
slavery has been the engendering at the South of that large 
class of mean whites, proud, ignorant, lazy, squalid, and bru- 
tally degraded, who yet feel that they are a sort of aristocracy 
because they are not niggers. Having produced this class, 
Slavery now sees it must rob them of all political rights. 
Hence the avowed plan of the Secession leaders to have either 
a close oligarchical or a monarchical government. The thick 
skulls of these mean whites (or if not of them, of their chil- 
dren) we must reach by help of the schoolmaster, and let them 
see that their interests lie in the elevation of labor and in op- 
position to the theories of the shallow dilettanti of the South, 
who, claiming to be great political thinkers and philosophers, 
maintain that capital ought to own labor, and that there must 
be a hereditary servile race, if not black, then white, in whom 
all mental aspiration and development shall be discouraged and 
kept down, in order that they may be content to be hewers of 
wood and drawers of water. As if God’s world-process were 
kept up in order that a few Epicurean gentlemen may have a 
good time of it, and send their sons to Paris to eat sumptuous 
dinners and attend model-artist entertainments, while thousands 
are toiling to supply the means for their base pleasures. As 
if a Frederick Douglas must be brutified into a slave in order 
that a Slidell may give Sybarite banquets and drive his neat 
span through the Champs Elysees ! ” 

“ What should we do with the blacks after we had freed 
them ? ” 

“ Let them alone ! Let them do for themselves. The diffi- 
culties in the way are all those of the imagination.” 

“ I like the moderation of your views as to confiscation.” 

“ When the mass of the people at the South,” continued 
Vance, “ come to see, as they will eventually, that we have 
been fighting the great battle of humanity and of freedom, for 
the South even more than for the North, for the white man 
even more than for the black, there will be such a reaction as 
will obliterate every trace of rancor that internecine war has 
begotten. But I have talked too much. I have occupied too 
much of your time.” 

“ O no ! I delight to meet with men who come to me, 


THE OCCUPANT OF THE WHITE HOUSE. 


357 


thinking how they may benefit, not themselves, but their coun- 
try. The steam-tugs you gave us off the mouths of the Mis- 
sissippi we would gladly have paid thirty thousand dollars for. 
I wish I could meet your views in regard to the enlistment of 
black troops ; but — but — that pear is n’t yet ripe. Failing 
that, you shall have any place you want in the Butler and 
Farragut expedition against New Orleans. As for your young 
friends, — what did you say their names are ? ” 

“ Robert Onslow and Charles Kenrick.” 

“ O yes ! Onslow, you say, has been a captain in the Rebel 
service. Both the young men shall be honorably placed where 
they can distinguish themselves. I ’ll speak to Stanton about 
them this very day. Let me make a note of it.” 

The President drew from his pocket a memorandum-book 
and hastily wrote a line or two. Vance rose to take his leave. 

“ Mr. President,” said he, “ I thank you for this interview 
But there ’s one thing in which you ’ve disappointed me.” 

“ Ah ! you think me rather a slow coach, eh ? ” 

“ Yes ; but that was n’t what I alluded to.” 

“ What then?” 

“ From what I ’ve read about you in the newspapers, I 
expected to have to hear one of your stories.” 

A smile full of sweetness and bonhommie broke over the 
President’s care-worn face as he replied : “ Really ! Is it pos- 
sible ? Have you been here all this time without my telling 
you a story ? Sit down, Mr. Vance, and let me make up for 
my remissness.” 

Vance resumed his seat. 

The President ran his fingers through his long, carelessly 
disposed hair, pushing it aside from his forehead, and said: 
“ Once on a time the king of beasts, the lion, took it into his 
head he would travel into foreign parts. But before leaving 
his kingdom he installed an old ’coon as viceroy. The lion 
was absent just four months to a day ; and on his return he 
called all the principal beasts to hear their reports as to the 
way in which affairs had been managed in his absence. Said 
the fox, ‘ You left an old imbecile to rule us, sire. No sooner 
were you gone than a rebellion broke out, and he appointed 
for our leader a low-born mule, whose cardinal maxim in mili- 


358 


PECULIAR. 


tary matters was to put off till to-morrow whatever could be 
just as well done to-day ; whose policy was a masterly inac- 
tivity instead of a straightforward movement on the enemy’s 
works.’ Said the sheep, 4 The ’coon could have had peace if 
he had listened to me and others who wanted to draw it mild 
and to compromise. Such a bloodthirsty wretch as the ’coon 
ought to be expelled from civilized society.’ Said the horse, 
4 He is too slow.’ Said the ox, 4 He is too fast.’ Said the 
jackass, 4 He does n’t know how to bray ; he can’t utter an 
inspiring note.’ Said the pig, 4 He is too full of his jokes and 
stories.’ Said the magpie, 4 He is a liar and a thief.’ Said 
the owl, 4 He is no diplomatist.’ Said the tiger, 4 He is too 
conservative.’ Said the beaver , 4 He is too radical.’ 4 Stop ! ’ 
roared the king, — 4 shut up, every beast of you ! ’ At once 
there was silence in the assembly. Then, turning to his vice- 
roy, the lion said , 4 Old ’coon, I wish no better proof that you 
have been faithful than all this abuse from opposite parties 
You have done so well, that you shall be reinstalled for 
another term of four months!’” 

44 And what did the old ’coon say to that ? ” asked Yance. 

44 The old ’coon begged to be excused, protesting that he had 
experienced quite enough of the charms of office.” 

The President held out his hand. Yance pressed it with a 
respectful cordiality, and withdrew from the White House. 


COMPARING NOTES. 


359 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


COMPARING NOTES. 


“ But thou art fled, .... 

Like some frail exhalation which the dawn 
Robes in its golden beams, — ah ! thou hast fled } 
The brave, the gentle, apd the beautiful, 

The child of grace and genius ! ” 


Shelley. 



OT many weeks after the conversation (not altogether 


I'N imaginary) at the White House, a young man in the 
uniform of a captain lay on the sofa in a room at Willard’s 
Hotel in Washington. He lay reading a newspaper, but the 
paleness of his face showed that he had been suffering either 
from illness or a serious wound. This young man was Onslow. 
In a cavalry skirmish at Winchester, in which the Rebels had 
been handsomely routed, he had been shot through the lungs, 
the ball coming out at his back. There was one chance in a 
thousand that the direction taken by the ball would be such that 
the wound should not prove fatal ; and this thousandth chance 
happened in his favor. Thanks to a naturally vigorous consti- 
tution, he was rapidly convalescing. He began to be impatient 
once more for action. 

There was a knock at the door, and Vance entered. 

“ How is our cavalry captain to-day ? ” he asked cheerily. 

“ Better and better, my dear Mr. Vance.” 

“ Let me feel of his pulse. Excellent ! Firm, regular ! 
Appetite ? ” 

“ Improving daily. He ate two boiled eggs and a lamb chop 
for breakfast, not to speak of a slice of aerated bread.” 

“ Come now, — that will do. He will be ready soon for a 
bullet through his other lung. But he must not get restless. 
There ’s plenty of fighting in store for him.” 

“ Mr. Vance, I ’ve been pondering the strange story of your 
life ; your interview with my father on board the Pontiac ; the 


360 


PECULIAR. 


loss of the Berwicks ; the supposed loss of their child ; the 
developments by which you were led to suspect that the child 
was kidnapped ; Peek’s unavailing search for the rascal Hyde ; 
the interview with Quattles, confirming your suspicion of foul 
play; and finally your interview last week in New York with 
the mulatto woman, Hattie Davy. Let me ask if Hattie thinks 
she could still identify the lost child.” 

“ Yes, by certain marks on her person. She at once recog- 
nized the little sleeve-button I got from Quattles.” 

“ Please let me look at it.” 

Vance took from his pocket a small circular box which ho 
unscrewed, and there, in the centre of a circle of hair, lay the 
button. He handed the box to the wounded soldier. At this 
moment Kenrick entered the room. 

“ Ha, Lieutenant ! What ’s the news ? ” exclaimed Vance. 

“ Ask any one but me,” returned Kenrick. “ Have I not 
been all the morning trying guns at the navy-yard? What 
have you there, Robert ! A lock of hair ? Ah ! I have seen 
that hair before.” 

“ Impossible ! ” said Vance. 

“ Not at all ! ” replied Kenrick. “ The color is too peculiar 
to be confounded. Miss Perdita Brown wore a bracelet of that 
hair the last evening we met her at the St. Charles.” 

“ Again I say, impossible,” quoth Vance. “ Something like 
it perhaps, but not this. How could she have come by it ? ” 

“ Cousin,” replied Kenrick, “ I ’m quick to detect slight dif- 
ferences of color, and in this case I ’m sure.” 

Suddenly the Lieutenant noticed the little sleeve-button in 
Onslow’s hand, and, while the blood mounted to his forehead, 
turning to him said, “ How did you come by this, Robert ? ” 

“ Why do you ask with so much interest ? ” inquired Vance. 

“ Because that same button I ’ve seen worn by Perdita.” 

“ Now I know you ’re raving,” said Vance ; “ for, till now, it 
has n’t been out of my pocket since Quattles gave it me.” 

“Do you mean to say,” exclaimed Kenrick, “ that this is the 
jewel of which you told me ; that wliich belonged to the lost 
infant of the Pontiac?” 

“ Yes ; her nurse identifies it. Undoubtedly it is one of a 
pair worn by poor little Clara.” 


COMPARING NOTES. 


361 


“ Then,” said Kenrick, with the emphasis of sudden convic- 
tion, Clara and Perdita are one and the same ! ” 

Startling as a severe blow was this declaration to Vance. 
It forced upon his consideration a possibility so new, so strange, 
so distressing, that he felt crushed by the thought that there 
was even a chance of its truth. Such an opportunity, thrust, 
as it were, by Fate under his eyes, had it been allowed to 
escape him? His emotions were those of a blind man, who 
being suddenly restored to sight, learns that he has passed by a 
treasure which another has picked up. He paced the room. 
He struck his arms out wildly. He pushed up the sleeves of 
his coat with an objectless energy, and then pulled them down. 

* O blind mole ! ” he groaned, “ too intent on thy own little 
burrow to see the stars out-shining ! 0 beast with blinders ! 

looking neither on the right nor on the left, but only straight 
before thy nose ! ” 

And then, as if ashamed of his ranting, he sat down and said : 
“ How strange that this possibility should never have occurred 
to me ! I saw there was a mystery in the poor girls fate, and 
I tried to make her disclose it. Had I only seen her that last 
day I called, I should have extorted her confidence. Once or 
twice during our interviews she seemed on the point of telling 
me something. Then she would check herself, as if from some 
prompting of delicacy or of caution. To think that I should 
have been so inconsiderate ! To think, too, that I should have 
been duped by that heartless lay-figure for dressmakers and 
milliners, Miss Tremaine ! Yes ! I almost dread to look further 
lest I should be convinced that Charles is right, and that Clara 
Berwick and Perdita Brown are one and the same person. If 
so, the poor girl we all so admired is a slave ! ” 

“ A slave ! ” gasped Kenrick, struck to the heart by the 
cruel word, and turning pale. 

“ I ’(1 like to see the man who ’d venture to style himself her 
master in my presence ! ” cried Onslow, forgetting his wound, 
and half rising from the sofa. 

“ Soft ! ” said Vance. “ We may be too hasty in our conclu- 
sion. There may be sleeve-buttons by the gross, precisely of 
tliis pattern, in the shops.” 

“ No ! ” replied Kenrick. “ Coral of that color is what you 
16 


362 


PECULIAR. 


do not often meet with. Such a delicate flesh tint is unusual. 
You cannot convince me that the mate of this button is not the 
one worn by the young lady we knew as Perdita. Perhaps, too, 
it is marked like the other pair. If so, it ought to have on it 
the letters — ” 

“What letters?” exclaimed Vance, fiercely, arresting Ken- 
rick’s hand so he could not examine the button. 

“ The letters C. A. B.,” replied Kenrick. 

“ Good heavens, yes ! ” ejaculated Vance, releasing him, and 
sinking into, an arm-chair. And then, after several seconds of 
profound sighing, he drew forth from his pocket-book an en- 
velope, and said : “ This contains the testimony of Hattie 
Davy in regard to certain personal marks that would go far to 
prove identity. One of these marks I distinctly remember as 
striking my attention in Clara, the child, and yet I never 
noticed it in the person we knew as Perdita. Could I have 
failed to remark it, had it existed ? ” 

“ Why not ? ” answered Kenrick. “ Your thoughts are too 
intent on public business for you to apply them very closely to 
an examination of the personal graces or defects of any young 
woman, however charming.” 

“ Tell me, Captain,” said Vance to Onslow, “ did you ever 
notice in Perdita any physical peculiarity, in which she differed 
from most other persons ? ” 

“I merely noticed she was peculiarly beautiful,” replied 
Onslow ; “ that she wore her own fine, rich, profuse hair exclu- 
sively, instead of borrowing tresses from the wig-maker, as 
nine tenths of our young ladies do now-a-days ; that her fea- 
tures were not only handsome in themselves by those laws 
which a sculptor would acknowledge, but lovely from the ex- 
pression that made them luminous ; that her form was the most 
symmetrical ; her — ” 

“Enough, Captain!” interrupted Vance. “I see you did 
not detect the peculiarity to which I allude. Now tell me, 
cousin, how was it with you ? Were you more penetrating ? ” 

“ I think I know to what you refer,” replied Kenrick. “ Her 
eyes were of different colors ; one a rich dark blue, the other 
gray.” 

“Fate! yes!” exclaimed Vance, dashing one hand against 
the other. “ Can you tell me which was blue ? ” 


COMPARING NOTES. 


363 


* ( Yes, the left was blue.” 

Vance took from the envelope a paper, and unfolding it 
pointed to these lines which Onslow and Kenrick perused to- 
gether : — 

Vance. “ You tell me one of her eyes was dark blue, the 
other dark gray. Can you tell me which was blue ? ” 

Hattie. “ Yes ; for I remember a talk about it between the 
father and the mother. The father had blue eyes, the mother 
gray. The mother playfully boasted that the eye of her color 
was the child’s right eye ; to which the father replied, ‘ But the 
left is nearest the heart.’ And so, sir, remembering that con- 
versation, I can swear positively that the child’s left eye was 
the blue one.” 

“ Rather a striking concurrence of testimony ! ” said Onslow. 
“ I wonder I should never have detected the oddity.” 

“ Let me remark,” replied Kenrick, “ that it required a near 
observation to note the difference in the hue of the eyes. 
Three feet off you would hardly discriminate. The depth of 
shade is nearly equal in both. You might be acquainted with 
Perdita a twelvemonth and never heed the peculiarity. So do 
not, cousin, take blame to yourself for inattention.” 

“ Do you remember, Charles,” said Vance, “ our visit to the 
hospital the day after our landing in New York ? ” 

“ Yes, I shall never forget the scene,” replied Kenrick. 

“ Do you remember,” continued Vance, “ among the nurses 
quite a young girl, who, while carrying a salver of food to a 
wounded soldier, was asked by you if you should not relieve 
her of the burden ? ” 

“ Yes ; and her reply was, ‘ Where are your shoulder-straps ?’ 
And she eyed me from head to foot with provoking coolness. 
‘I’m on my way to Washington for them,’ answered I. ‘ Then 
you may take the salver,’ said the little woman, graciously 
thrusting it into my hands.” 

“ Well, Charles, when I was in New York last week, I saw 
that same little woman again, and found out who she is. How 
strangely, in this kaleidoscope of events which we call the 
world, we are brought in conjunction with those persons be- 
tween whose fate and our own Chance or Providence seems to 
tender a significance which it would have us heed and solve ! 


864 


PECULIAR. 


This girl was a Miss Charlton, the daughter of that same 
Ralph Charlton who holds the immense estate that rightfully 
belongs to our lost Clara.” 

“ Would he be disposed to surrender it ?” asked Onslow. 

“ Probably not. I took pains while in New York to make 
inquiries. I learnt that his domestic status is far from envia- 
ble. He himself, could he follow his heart’s proclivities, would 
be a miser. Then he could be happy and contented — in his 
way. But this his wife will not allow. She forces him by 
the power of a superior will into expenses at which his heart 
revolts, although they do not absorb a fifth part of his income. 
The daughter shrinks from him with an innate aversion which 
she cannot overcome. And so, unloving and unloved, he finds 
in his own base avarice the instrument that scourges him and 
keeps him wretched.” 

“ I should not feel much compunction in compelling such a 
man to unclutch his riches,” remarked Onslow. 

“ It will be very difficult to do that, I fear,” said Vance, 
“ even supposing we can find and identify the true heir.” 

“ We must find her, cost what it may ! ” cried Kenrick. 
“ Cousin, take me to New Orleans with you.” 

“No, Charles. You are wanted here on the Potomac. Your 
reputation in gunnery is already high. The country needs more 
officers of your stamp. You cannot be spared. The Captain 
here can go with me to the Gulf. He is wounded and entitled 
to a furlough. A trip to New Orleans by sea will do him good.” 

With a look of grave disappointment Kenrick took up a 
newspaper and kept his face concealed by it for a moment. 
Then putting it down, and turning to Vance, he said, with a 
sweet sincerity in his tone : “ Cousin, where my wishes are so 
strongly enlisted, you can judge better than I of my duty. I 
yield to your judgment, and, if you persist in it, will make no 
effort to get from government the permission I covet.” 

“ Truly I think your place is here,” said Vance. 

A servant entered with a letter. It was for Vance. He 
opened it, and finding it was from Peek, read as follows : — 

“New Orleans, February, 1862 . 

“ Dear Mr. Vance : On leaving you at the Levee I drove 
straight for the stable where my horses belonged. I passed 


COMPARING NOTES. 


365 


the night with my friend Antoine, the coachman. The next 
day I went to your house, where I have stayed with those kind 
people, the Bernards, ever since. 

“ Please inform Mr. Winslow I duly attended to his com- 
missions. What will seem strange to you is the fact that in 
attending to his affairs I am attending to yours. Two days 
after your departure the newspapers contained flaming ac- 
counts of the treacherous seizure of the Artful Dodger by 
Messrs. Vance, Winslow, & Co., — their pursuit by the Rebel, 
the encounter, the Rebel’s discomfiture, the ‘abduction’ of 
Mr. Ratcliff, the funeral of his poor wife, etc. Seeing that 
Mr. Ratcliff was absent, I thought the opportunity favorable 
for me to call at his house on the quadroon lady, Madame 
Volney, to whom Mr. Winslow had commended me. I went 
and found in the servant who opened the door an old acquaint- 
ance, Esha, whom years ago you sought for in vain. She was 
here keeping watch over a white slave. 

“ And who is the white slave ? you will ask. Ah ! thefe ’s 
the mystery. Who is she indeed ! In the first place, she is 
claimed by Ratcliff ; in the next, she and Madame Volney are 
the residuary legatees of the late Mrs. Ratcliff; in the next, 
she is the young lady who has been staying with Miss Tre- 
maine at the St. Charles.” , 

Here there was a cry of pain from Vance, so sharp and 
sudden that Kenrick started forward to his relief. 

“ What ’s the matter ? Is it bad news ? ” inquired Onslow. 

“ I ’ll finish reading the letter by myself,” replied Vance, 
taking his departure without ceremony. 

Seated in his own apartment, he continued the reading : — 

“ Do not think me fanciful, Mr. Vance, but the moment I 
set eyes on this young woman the conviction struck me, She 
is the lost Clara for whom we are seeking. The coincidence 
of age and the fact that I have had the search of her on my 
mind, may fully explain the impression. May. But you know 
I believe in the phenomena of Spiritualism. Belief is not the 
right word. Knowledge would be nearer the truth. 

“ There is here in New Orleans a young man named Bender 
who calls himself a medium. He is a worthless fellow, and I 
have several times caught him cheating. But he nevertheless 
gives me glimpses of spiritual powers. There are some plain 
cases in which cheating is impossible. For instance, if with- 
out throwing out any previous hint, however remote, I think of 


366 


PECULIAR. 


twenty different persons in succession, my knowledge of whom 
is a secret in my own brain, and if I say to a medium, ‘ Of 
what person am I thinking now?* and if the medium instantly, 
without hesitation or inquiry, gives me the right reply twenty 
times in succession, I may reasonably conclude — may I not ? — 
that the power is what it appears to be, and that the medium 
gets his knowledge through a faculty which, if not preternatu- 
ral, is very rare, and is denied as possible by science. Well, 
this test has been fulfilled, not once only, but more than fifty 
different times.* 

“I got Madame Volney’s consent to bring Bender to the 
house. After he had showed her his wonderful powers of 
thought-reading, we put the hand of the white slave in his, 
and bade him tell us her name. He wrote with great rapidity, 
Clara Aylesford Berwick. We asked her father’s name. In 
a moment the medium’s limbs twitched and writhed, his eye- 
balls rolled up so that their natural expression was lost, and ho 
extended his arm as if in pain. Then suddenly dropping the 
girl’s hand he drew up the sleeve from his right arm, and 
there, in crimson letters on the white skin were the words 
Henry Berwick .f 

“ Now whether this is the right name or not I do not know. 
I presume that it is ; though it is rarely safe to trust a me- 
dium in such cases. The child’s name I have heard you say 
was Clara Berwick. I have never spoken or written it except 
to yourself. Still Bender may have got the father’s name, — 
the. surname at least, — from my mind. But if the name 
Henry is right, where did he get that ? I am not aware of 
ever having known the father’s name. The check he once 
gave you for me you never showed me, but cashed it yourself. 
Still I shall not too positively claim that the name was commu- 
nicated preternaturally ; for experience has convinced me it 
may have been in my mind without my knowing it. Every 
thought of our lives is probably photographed on our brains, 
never to be obliterated. Let me study, then, to multiply my 
good thoughts. But in whatever way Bender got the name, 
whether from my mind or from a spirit, the fact is interesting 
and important in either case. 

“ The effect upon Clara (for so we now all call her) of this 
singular event was such as to convince her instantaneously that 

* The writer has fully tested it in repeated instances; and there are prob- 
ably several hundred thousand persons at this moment in the United States 
to whom the same species of test is a certainty , not merely a belief. 

t The parallel facts are too numerous and notorious to need specification. 


COMPARING NOTES. 


367 


the name was right, and that she is the child of Henry Ber- 
wick. As soon as the medium had gone, she asked me if I 
could not find out who Mr. Berwick was. I then told her the 
story of the Pontiac, down to the recent confession of Quattles, 
and my own search for Colonel Delaney Hyde. All my little 
group of hearers — Madame Volney, Esha, and Clara — were 
deeply interested, as you may suppose, in the narrative. Clara 
was much moved when she learnt that the same Mr. Vance, 
whose acquaintance she had made, was the one who had known 
the parents, and was now seeking for their daughter. She has 
a serene conviction that she is the identical child. When I 
read what you had written about different colored eyes, she 
simply said, 4 Look, Peek ! ’ And there they were, — blue and 
gray ! 

“ Mr. • Ratcliff’s house is in the charge of his lawyer, Mr. 
Semmes, who keeps a very strict eye over all outgoings and 
incomings. Esha has his confidence, but he distrusts both 
Clara and Madame Volney. By pretending that I am her half- 
brother, Esha enables me to come and go unsuspected. The 
medium, Bender, was introduced as a chiropedist. Clara never 
goes out without a driver and footman, who are agents and 
spies of Semmes. It does not matter at present ; for it would 
be difficult in the existing state of affairs to remove Clara out 
of the city without running great risk of detection and pursuit 
I have sometimes thought of putting her in a boat and rowing 
down the river to Pass k l’Outre; but the hazard would be 
serious. 

44 As it is important to collect all the proofs possible for Clara’s 
identification, it was at first agreed among the women that Esha 
should call, as if in the interests of Mr. Ratcliff, on Mrs. Gen- 
try, the teacher, and get from that lady all the facts, dates, and 
memorials that may have a bearing on Clara’s history. But, 
on reflection, I concluded it would be better to put the matter 
in the hands of a lawyer who could take down in legal form, 
with the proper attestation, all that Mrs. Gentry might have to 
communicate. Mr. Winslow had given me a letter of intro- 
duction to Mr. Jasper, his confidential adviser, and a loyal man. 
To him I went and explained what I wanted. He at once 
gave the business his attention. With two suitable witnesses 
lie called on Mrs. Gentry and took down her deposition. I 
had told him to procure, if possible, some articles of dress that 
belonged to the child when first brought to the house. This he 
succeeded in doing. A little undershirt and frock, — a child’s 
petticoat and pocket-handkercliief, — were among the articles, 


368 


PECULIAR. 


and they were all marked in white silk, C. A. B. Mrs. Gentry 
said that her own oath as to the clothes could be confirmed by 
Esha’s. Eslia was accordingly sent for, and she came, and, be- 
ing duly sworn, identified the clothes as those the child had on 
when first left at the house ; which clothes Esha had washed, 
and the child had subsequently worn. This testimony being 
duly recorded, the clothes were done up carefully in a paper 
package, to which the seals of all the gentlemen present were 
attached ; and then the package was placed in a small leather 
trunk which was locked. 

“ I should mention one circumstance that adds fresh confirma- 
tion. In telling Miss Clara what Quattles had confessed (the 
details of which you give in that important letter you handed 
me) I alluded to the pair of sleeve-buttons. ‘ Was- there any 
mark upon them?’ she asked. ‘Yes, the initials Q, A. B.’ 
She instantly drew forth from her bosom another pair, the 
counterpart probably of that described in your letter, and on 
oue of the buttons were the same characters ! Can we resist 
such evidences? 

“ Let me mention another extraordinary development. Ma- 
dame Volney does not scruple to resort to all the stratagems 
justifiable in war to get information from the enemy. Mr. 
Semmes is an old fox, but not so cunning as to guard against 
an inspection of Ills papers by means of duplicate keys. In 
one of the drawers of the library he deposits his letters. In 
looking them over the other day, Madame V. found one from 
Mr. Semmes’s brother in New York, in which the fact is dis- 
closed that this house, hired by Mr. Ratcliff, belonged to Miss 
Clara’s father, and ought, if the inheritance had not been frau- 
dulently intercepted, to be now her property ! Said Miss Clara 
to me when she learnt the fact, ‘ Peek, if I am ever rich, you 
shall have a nice little cottage overlooking my garden.’ Ah ! 
Mr. Yance, I thought of Naomi, and wondered if she would be 
living to share the promised fortune. 

“ I have a vague fear of this Mr. Semmes. Under the affecta- 
tion of great frankness, he seems to me one of those men who 
make it a rule to suspect everybody. I have warned the 
women to take heed to their conversation ; to remember that 
walls have ears. I rely much on Esha. She has, thus far, 
been too deep for him. He has several times tried to throw 
her off* her guard ; but has not yet succeeded. lie is evidently 
distrustful and disposed to lay traps for us. 

‘ k It appears that Mr. Ratcliff’s plan, at the time you intercept- 
ed him in his career, and had him sent North, was to offer mar- 


COMPARING NOTES. 


369 


riage to this young girl he claims to hold as a slave. Marriage 
with him would plainly be as hateful to her as any other spe- 
cies of relation ; and my present wish is to put her as soon as 
possible beyond his reach, lest he should any time unexpectedly 
return. Madame Volney is so confident in her power to save 
her, that Clara’s anxieties seem to be much allayed ; and now 
that she fully believes she is no slave, but the legitimate child 
of honorable parents, she cultivates an assurance as to her 
safety, which I hope is not the precursor of misfortune. The 
money which Mr. Winslow left in my hands for her use would 
be sufficient to enable us to carry out some effectual scheme of 
escape ; but Madame Volney does not agree with me as to the 
importance of an immediate attempt. Will Ratcliff come 
back ? That is the question I now daily ask myself. 

“ I recognized on Clara’s wrist the other day a bracelet of 
your wife’s hair. How did she come by it? The reply was 
simple. Eslia gave it to her. Clara is very fond of question- 
ing me about you. She has learnt from me all the particulars 
of your wife’s tragical fate, and of the debt you yourself owe 
to the Slave Power. She takes the intensest interest in the 
war. Learning from me that my friend Cailloux was forming 
a secret league among the blacks in aid of the Union cause, 
she made me take five hundred dollars of the money left by Mr. 
Winslow for her in my possession, and this she sent to Cailloux 
with a letter. He wrote her in reply, that he wished no better 
end than to die fighting for the Union and for the elevation of 
his race.* 

“ I have not forgotten the importance of getting hold of 
Colonel Hyde. I have searched for him daily in the principal 
drinking-saloons, but have found no trace of him as yet. I 
have also kept up my search for my wife, having sent out two 
agents, who, I trust, may be more fortunate than I myself have 
been ; for I sometimes think my own over-anxiety may have 
defeated my purpose. In making these searches I have availed 
myself of the means you have so generously placed at my 
disposal. 

“ The few Union men who are here are looking hopefully to 
the promised expedition of Farragut and Butler. But the 
Rebels are defiant and even contemptuous in their incredulity. 

* Captain Andre Cailloux, a negro, was a well-educated and accomplished 
gentleman. He belonged to the First Louisiana regiment, and perished 
nobly at Port Hudson, May 17, 1863, leading on his men in the thickest of 
the fight. His body was recovered the latter part of July, and interred with 
great ceremony at New Orleans. _ 

16* 


x 


370 


PECULIAR. 


They say our fleet can never pass Forts Jackson and St. 
Philip. And then they have an iron ram, on the efficacy of 
which they largely count. Furthermore, they mean to wel- 
come us with bloody hands, &c. ; die in the last ditch, &c. We 
shall see. This prayer suffices for me: God help the right! 
Adieu ! 

“ Faithfully, Peek.” 

We have seen with what profound emotion Vance received 
the information, that the man whose formidable power was en- 
closing Clara in its folds was the same whose brutality had 
killed Estelle. Vance could no longer doubt that Clara and 
Perdita were identical. He looked in his memorandum-book 
to assure himself of the name of Clara’s father. Yes ! Ben- 
der was right. There were the words : Henry Berwick. 

Then putting on his hat Vance hurried to the War Office. 
Would the Secretary have the goodness to address a question 
to the officer commanding at Fort Lafayette? Certainly: it 
could be done instantly by telegraph. Have the goodness to 
ask if Mr. Ratcliff, of New Orleans, is still under secure con- 
finement. 

The click of the telegraph apparatus in the War Office was 
speedily heard, putting the desired interrogatory. 

“ Expect a reply in half an hour,” said the operator. 

Vance looked at his watch, and then passed out into the 
paved corridor and walked up and down. He thought of 
Clara, — of the bracelet of his wife’s hair on her wrist. It 
moved him to tears. Was there not something in the identity 
in the position of these two young and lovely women that 
seemed to draw him by the subtle meshes of an overruling fate 
to Clara’s side ? Could it be that Estelle herself, a guardian 
angel, was favoring the conjunction ? 

F or an instant that gracious image which had so long been 
the light of his waking and his sleeping dreams, seemed to 
retire, and another to take her place ; another, different, yet 
hardly less lovely. 

For an instant, and for the second time, visions of a new 
domestic paradise, — of beautiful children who should call him 
father, — of a daughter whose name should be Estelle, — of life’s 
evening spent amid the amenities of a refined and happy home, 


COMPARING NOTES. 


371 


— flitted before his Imagination, and importuned desire. But 
they speedily vanished, and that other transcendent image re- 
turned and resumed its place. 

Ah ! it was so life-like, so real, so near and positive in its 
presence, that no other could be its substitute ! For no other 
could his heart’s chalice overflow with immortal love. Had she 
not said, — 

“ And dear as sacramental wine 
To dying lips was all she said,” — 

had she not said, “ I shall see you, though you may not see 
me?” Vance took the words into his believing heart, and 
thenceforth they were a reality from the sense of which he 
could not withdraw himself, and would not have withdrawn 
himself if he could. 

He looked again at his watch, and re-entered that inner 
office of the War Department, to which none but those high in 
government confidence were often admitted. 

“ We have just received a reply to your inquiry,” said the 
clerk. “ Mr. Ratcliff of New Orleans made liis escape from 
Fort Lafayette ten days ago. The Department has taken 
active measures to have him rearrested.” 


372 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE LAWYER AND THE LADY. 


“The Devil is an ass.” — Old Proverb. 


P EEK’S apprehensions in regard to Ratcliff’s agent, 
Semmes, were not imaginary. Semmes was of the 
school in politics and policy of old Mr. Slidell. ' lie did not 
believe in the vitality and absoluteness of right and goodness. 
His life maxim was, while bowing and smirking to all the world, 
to hold all the world as cheats. To his mind, slavery was right, 
because it was profitable; and inwardly he pooh-poohed at 
every attempt to vindicate or to condemn it from a moral or 
religious point of view. He laid it down as an axiom, that 
slavery must exist just so long as it paid. 

“Worthy souls, sir, these philanthropists, — but they want 
the virile element, — the practical element, sir ! Like women 
and poets, they are led by their emotions. If the world were 
in the hands of such softs, the old machine would be smashed 
up in universal anarchy.” 

Ah, thou blind guide! These tender souls thou scornest 
are they who always prevail in the long run. They prevail, 
because God rules through them, and because he does not with- 
draw himself utterly from human affairs ! They prevail be- 
cause Christ’s doctrine of self-abnegation, and of justice and 
love, is the very central principle of progress, whether in the 
heavens or on the earth ; because it is the keystone of the 
arch by which all things are upheld and saved from chaos. 
Yes, Divine duty, Charity ! “ Thou dost preserve the stars 

from wrong, — and the most ancient heavens, through thee, 
are fresh and strong ! ” 

Benjamin Constant remarked of conservative Talleyrand, 
that had he been present at the creation of all things, he would 
have exclaimed, “ Good God ! chaos will be destroyed ! ” Be- 


the lawyer and the lady. 


373 


ware of the conservatism that would impede God’s work of 
justice and of love! 

Ratcliff, in his last confidential interview with Semmes, had 
communicated to the lawyer all the facts which he himself was 
in possession of in regard to the White Slave. In the quiet 
of Ratcliff s library, Semmes now carefully revolved and 
weighed all these particulars. The fact that Clara might be 
wrongfully held as a slave made little impression upon him, 
his proper business being to conform to his client’s wishes and 
to make his client’s claim as strong as possible, without regard 
to any other considerations. What puzzled him greatly was 
Madam Volney’s apparent interest in Clara ; and as for Esha, 
she was a perfect sphinx in her impenetrability. As he pon- 
dered the question of her fidelity, the thought occurred to him, 
Why not learn something of her antecedents from Mrs. Gen- 
try ? A good idea ! 

That very evening he knocked at the door of the “ select 
establishment.” A bright-faced black boy had run up the steps 
in advance of him, and asked who it was he wanted to see. 
“ Mrs. Gentry.” “ Well, sir, she ’s in. Just give the bell a 
good pull.” And the officious boy disappeared. A minute af- 
terwards the lawyer was seated in the lady’s presence in her 
little parlor. 

“ And have you heard from poor Mr. Ratcliff? ” she asked. 

“He is still in confinement, I believe, in Fort Lafayette.” 

“ Ah ! is he, poor man ? ” returned the lady ; and it was on 
her mind to add : “ I kn&w he would be come up with ! I said 
he would be come up with ! ” But she repressed the exulting 
exclamation, and simply added : “ Those horrid Yankees ! Do 
you think, Mr. Semmes, we are in any danger from this down- 
east general, known as Picayune Butler?” 

“Don’t be under concern, Madam. He may be a sharp law- 
yer, but if he ever comes to New Orleans, it will be as a 
prisoner.” 

“ And how is Miss Murray ? ” 

“ Never better, or handsomer. And by the way, I wish to 
make some inquiries respecting the colored woman Esha, who, 
I believe, lived some time in your family.” 

“Yes, Esha lived with me fifteen years. A capital cook, 


374 


PECULIAR. 


and good washer and ironer. I wouldn’t have parted with 
her if Mr. Ratcliff had n’t been so set on borrowing her. She 
was here some days ago about that deposition business.” 

“ 0 yes,” said Semmes, thoroughly startled, yet concealing 
every sign of surprise, and remarking : “ By the way, how did 
you get through with that business ? ” 

“ 0, very well. Mr. Jasper and the other gentlemen were 
very polite and considerate.” 

Jasper ! He was the counsel in the great case of Winslow 
versus Burrows. Probably he was now Winslow’s confidential 
agent and adviser. Semmes’s thin, wiry hands closed together, 
as if grasping a clew that would lead him to hidden treasures. 

“ I hope,” said he, carefully trying his ground, “ you were n’t 
incommoded by the application.” 

“ Not at all. I only had to refer to my account-books, which 
gave me all the necessary dates. And as for the child’s clothes, 
they were in an old trunk in the garret, where they had n’t been 
touched for fifteen years. I had forgotten all about them till 
Mr. Jasper asked me whether I had any such articles.” 

Semmes Avas still in the dark. 

“ And Avas Esha’s testimony taken ? ” 

“ Yes, though I don’t see of Avliat use it can be, seeing that 
she ’s a slave, and her deposition is worthless under our laws.” 

“ To Avhat did Esha depose ? ” 

“ Have n’t you seen the depositions ? ” 

“ O yes ! But not having read them carefully as yet, I 
should like the benefit of your recollections.” 

“ 0, Esha merely identified the girl’s clothes and the initials 
marked upon them, — for she knoAvs the alphabet. She also 
remembered seeing Mr. Ratcliff lift the child out of the ba- 
rouche the day he first called here. All which Avas taken 
doAvn.” 

“ Could you let me see the clothes and the account-books ? ” 

“ I gave them all up to Mr. Jasper. Did n’t he tell you 
so? ” 

“ Perhaps. I may have forgotten.” 

Semmes bade Mrs. Gentry good evening. 

“ Headed off by all that ’s unfortunate ! ” muttered he, as he 
walked away. “And by that smooth Churchman, Jasper 1 


THE LAWYER AND THE LADY. 


375 


Why did n’t I think to hermetically seal up this Mrs. Gentry’s 
clack, and take away all her traps and books ? And Esha, — 
if she were n’t playing false, she would have reported all this to 
me at once. But I ’ll let the old hag see that, deep as she is, 
she is n’t beyond the reach of my plummet. That pretended 
brother of hers, too ! He must be looked after. I should n’t 
wonder if he were a spy of Winslow’s. I must venture upon 
a coup d'etat at once, if I would defeat their plottings. How 
shall I manage it?” 

Semmes had on his books heavy charges against Ratcliff for 
professional services, and did not care to jeopard their payment 
by any slackness in attending to that gentleman’s parting in- 
junctions. He saw he would be justified in any act of precau- 
tion, however extreme, that was undertaken in good faith to- 
■ wards his client And so he resolved on two steps : one was to 
arrest Esha’s pretended brother, and the other to withdraw 
Clara from the surveillance of Esha and Madame Volney. 

Peek had not been idle meanwhile. For several weeks ho 
liad employed a boy to dog Semmes’s footsteps ; and when that 
enterprising lad brought word of the lawyer’s visit to Mrs. 
Gentry’s, Peek saw that his own communications with the 
women at Ratcliff’s were cut off. He immediately sent word 
of the fact to Esha, and told her to redouble her caution. 

Semmes waited three days in the hope that Peek would 
make his appearance ; but at length growing impatient, took 
occasion to accost the impracticable Esha. 

“ Esha, can that brother of yours drive a carriage ? ” 

“ O yes, massa, he can do eb’ry ting.” 

“ Well, Jim wants to go up to Baton Rouge to see his wife, 
and I ’ve no objection to liking your brother awhile in his 
place.” 

“ Dar ’s noting Jake would like quite so well, massa ; but 
how unfortnit it am ! — Jake ’s gone to Natchez.” 

“ Where does Jake live when he ’s here ? ” 

“ Yah, yah ! Dat ’s a good joke. Whar does he lib ? He 
lib all ’bout in spots. Jake ’s got more wives nor ole Brigham 
Young.” 

Finding he could make nothing out of Esha, Semmes re- 
solved on his second precaution ; for he felt that, with two 


376 


PECULIAR. 


plotting women against him, his charge was likely any moment 
to be abstracted from under his eyes. He had the letting of 
several vacant houses, some of them furnished. If he could 
secretly transfer Clara to one of these, he could guard and hold 
her there without being in momentary dread of her escape. 
He thought long and anxiously, and finally nodded his head as 
if the right scheme had been hit upon at last. 

Clara was an early riser. Every morning, in company with 
Esha, she took a promenade in the little garden in the rear 
of the house. One morning as they were thus engaged, and 
Clara was noticing the indications of spring among the early 
buds and blossoms (though it was yet March), a woman, newly 
employed as a seamstress in the family, called out from the 
kitchen window, “ O Esha ! Come quick ! Black Susy is 
trying to catch Minnie, to kill her for stealing cream.” Minnie 
was a favorite cat, petted by Madame Yolney. 

“ Don’t let her do it, Esha ! ” exclaimed Clara. “ Run quick, 
and prevent it ! ” 

Esha ran. But no sooner had she disappeared over the 
threshold than Clara, who stood admiring an almond-tree in 
full bloom, felt a hood thrown over her face from behind, while 
both her hands were seized to prevent resistance. The hood 
was so strongly saturated with chloroform, that almost before 
she could utter a cry she was insensible. 

When Clara returned to consciousness, she found herself 
lying on a bed in a large and elegant apartment. The rich 
Parisian furniture, the Turkish carpet, and the amber-colored 
silk curtains told of wealth and sumptuous tastes. Her first 
movement was to feel for the little dagger which she carried 
in a sheath in a hidden pocket. She found it was safe. The 
windows were open, and the pleasant morning breeze came in 
soft and cool. 

As she raised herself on her elbow and looked about, a 
woman wearing the white starched linen bonnet of a Sister of 
Charity rose from a chair and stood before her. The face of 
this woman had a tender and serious expression, but the head 
showed a deficiency in the intellectual regions. Indeed, Sister 
Agatha was at once a saint and a simpleton ; credulous as a 
child, though pious as Ignatius himself. She was not in truth 


THE LAWYER AND THE LADY. 


377 


a recognized member of the intelligent order whose garb she 
wore. She had been rejected because of those very traits she 
now revealed ; but being regarded as harmless, she was suf- 
fered to play the Sister on her own account, procuring alms 
from the charitable, and often using them discreetly. Having 
called at Semmes’s office on a begging visit, he had recognized 
in her a fitting tool, and had secured her confidence by a liberal 
contribution and an affectation of rare piety. 

“ How do you feel now, my dear ? ” asked Agatha. 

“ What has happened ? ” said Clara, trying to recall the cir- 
cumstances which had led to her present position. “ Who are 
you ? Where ’s Esha ? Why is not Josephine here ? ” 

“There! don’t get excited,” said the sister. “Your poor 
brain has been in a whirl, — that ’s all.” 

“ Please tell me who you are, and why I am here, and what 
has happened.” 

“ I am Sister Agatha. I have been engaged by Mr. Semmes 
to take care of you. What has happened is, — you have had 
one of your bad turns, that ’s all.” 

Clara pondered the past silently for a full minute ; then, 
turning to the woman, said : “ You would not knowingly do a 
bad act. I get that assurance from your face. Have they told 
you I was insane ? ” 

“ There, dear, be quiet ! Lie down, and don’t distress your- 
self,” said Sister Agatha. “ We ’ll have some breakfast for 
you soon.” 

“ You speak of my having had a bad turn,” resumed Clara. 
“ What sort of a bad turn ? A fit ? ” 

“ Yes, dear, a fit.” 

“ Come nearer to me, Sister Agatha. Don’t you perceive 
an odor of chloroform on my clothes ? ” 

“ Why not ? They gave it for your relief.” 

“ No ; they gave it to render me powerless, that they might 
bring me without a struggle to this place out of the reach of 
the two friends with whom I have been living. Sister Agatha, 
don’t let them deceive you. Do I talk or look like an insane 
person ? Do not fear to answer me. I shall not be offended.” 

“ Yes, child, you both talk and look as if you were not in 
your right mind. So be a good girl and compose yourself.” 


378 


PECULIAR. 


Clara stepped on the floor, walked to the window, and saw 
that she was in the third story of a spacious house. She tried 
the doors. They were all locked, with the exception of one 
which communicated by a little entry, occupied by closets, with 
a corresponding room which looked out on the street from the 
front. 

“ I am a prisoner within these rooms, am I ? ” asked Clara. 

“ Yes, there ’s no way by which you can get out. But here 
is everything comfortable, you see. In the front room you will 
find a piano and a case of pious books. Here is a bathing- 
room, where you can have hot water or cold. This door on 
my right leads to a billiard-table, where you can go and play, 
if you are good. You need not lack for air or exercise.” 

“ When can I see Mr. Semmes ? ” 

“ He promised to be here by ten o’clock.” 

“ Do not fail to let me see him when he comes. Sister Agatha, 
is there any way by which I can prove to you I am not insane ? ” 

“ No ; because the more shrewd and sensible you are, the 
more I shall think you are out of your head. Insane people 
are always cunning. You have showed great cunning in all 
you have said and done.” 

“Then if I turn simple, you will think I am recovering, eh?” 

“ No ; I shall think you are feigning. Why, I once passed 
a whole day with a crazy woman, and never one moment sus- 
pected she was crazy till I was told so.” 

“ Who told you I am crazy ? ” 

“ The gentleman who engaged me to attend you, — Mr. 
Semmes.” 

“ Am I crazy only on one point or on many ? ” 

“ You ought to know best. I believe you are what they call 
a monomaniac. You are crazy on the subject of freedom. You 
want to be free.” 

“ But, Sister Agatha, if you were shut up in a house against 
your will, would n’t you desire to be free ? ” 

“ There it is ! I knew you would put things cunningly. But 
I ’m prepared for it. You must n’t think to deceive me, child, 
Why not be honest, and confess your wits are wandering ? ” 

The door of the communicating room was here unlocked. 

“ What ’s that ? ” asked Clara. 


THE LAWYER AND THE LADY. 379 

“ They are bringing in your breakfast,” said the sister. “ I 
hope you have an appetite.” 

Though faint and sick at heart, Clara resolved to conceal her 
emotions. So she sat down and made a show of eating. 

“ I will leave you awhile,” said the sister. “ If you want 
anything, you can ring.” 

Left to herself, Clara rose and promenaded the apartment, 
her thoughts intently turned inward to a survey of her position. 
Why had she been removed to this new abode ? Plainly be- 
cause Serames feared she would be aided by her companions in 
baffling his vigilance and effecting her escape. Clara knelt by 
the bedside and prayed for light and guidance ; and an inward 
voice seemed to say to her : “ You talk of trusting God, and 
yet you only half trust him.” 

What could it mean? Clara meditated upon it long and 
anxiously. What had been her motive in procuring the dag- 
ger ! A mixed motive and vague. Perhaps it was to take her 
own life, perhaps another’s. Had she not reached that point 
of faith that she could believe God would save her from both 
these alternatives ? Yes ; she would doubt no longer. Walk- 
ing to the back window she drew the dagger from its sheath 
and threw it far out into a clump of rose-bushes that grew rank 
in the centre of the area. 

The key turned in the door, and Sister Agatha appeared. 

u Mr. Semmes is here. Can he come in ? ” 

“ Yes. I ’ve been waiting for him.” 

The sister withdrew and the gentleman entered. 

“ Sit down,” said Clara. “ For what purpose am I confined 
here ? ” 

“ My dear young lady, you desire to be treated with frank- 
ness. You are sensible, — you are well educated, — you are 
altogether charming ; but you are a slave.” 

“ Stop there, sir ! Plow do you know I ’m a slave ? ” 

“ Of course I am bound to take the testimony of my client, 
an honorable gentleman, on that point.” 

“ Have you examined the record ! Can Mr. Ratcliff pro- 
duce any evidence that the child he bought was white ? Look 
at me. Look at this arm. Do you believe my parentage is 
other than pure Saxon? If that doesn’t shake your belief, 


380 


PECULIAR. 


let me tell yon that I have proofs that I am the only surviving 
child of that same Mr. and Mrs. Berwick who were lost more 
than fourteen years ago in a steamboat explosion on the Missis- 
sippi.” 

“Pi oofs? You have proofs? Impossible! "What are 
they ? ” 

“ That I do not choose to tell you. Only I warn you that 
the proofs exist, and that you are lending yourself to a fraud 
in helping your client to hold me as a slave.” 

“ My dear young lady, don’t encourage such wild, romantic 
dreams. Some one, for a wicked purpose, has put them into 
your head. The only child of Mr. and Mrs. Berwick was lost 
with them, as was clearly proved on the trial that grew out of 
the disaster, and their large property passed into the possession 
of a distant connection.” 

“ But what if the story of the child’s loss was a lie, — what 
if she was saved, — then kidnapped, — then sold as a slave ? 
What if she now stands before you ? ” 

“ As a lawyer I must say, I don’t see it. And even if it 
were all true, what an incalculable advantage the man who 
has millions in possession will have over any claimant who 
can’t offer a respectable fee in Advance ! Who holds the purse- 
strings, wins. ’T is an invariable rule, my child.” 

“ God will defend the right, Mr. Sernmes ; and I advise you 
to range yourself on his side forthwith.” 

“ It would n’t do for me to desert my client. That would be 
grossly unprofessional.” 

“ Even if satisfied your client was in the wrong ? ” 

“ My dear young lady, that ’s just the predicament where a 
lawyer’s services are most needed. What can I do for you ? ” 

“ Nothing, for I ’m not in the wrong. My cause is that of 
justice and humanity. You cannot serve it.” 

“ In that remark you wound my amour propre. Now let me 
put the case for my clients Accidentally attending an auction 
he buys an infant slave. He brings her up tenderly and well. 
He spares no expense in her education. No sooner does she 
reach a marriageable age, than, discarding all gratitude for his 
kindness, she runs away. He discovers her, and she is brought 
to his house. His wife dying, he proposes to marry and eman* 


THE LAWYER AND THE LADY. 


881 


cipate tliis ungrateful young woman. Instead of being touched 
by his generosity, she plots to baffle and disappoint him. Who 
could blame him if he were to put her up at auction to-mor- 
row and sell her to the highest bidder ? ” 

“ If you speak in sincerity, sir, then you are, morally consid- 
ered, blind as an owl ; if in raillery, then you are cruel as a 
wolf.” 

“ My dear young lady, you show in your every remark that 
you are a cultivated person ; that you are naturally clever, and 
that education has added its polish. How charming it would 
be to see one so gifted and accomplished placed in that position 
of wealth and rank which she would so well adorn ! There 
must never be unpleasant words between me and the future 
Mrs. Ratcliff, — never ! ” 

“ Then, sir, you ’re safe, however angrily I may speak.” 

“ Your pin-money alone, my dear young lady, will be enough 
to support half a dozen ordinary families.” 

Clara made no reply, and Semmes continued : “ Think of it ! 
Hirst, the tour of Europe in princely style ; then a return to 
the most splendid establishment in Louisiana ! ” 

“Well, sir, if your eloquence is exhausted, you can do me a 
favor.” 

“ What is it, my dear young lady ? ” 

“ Leave the room.” 

“ Certainly. By the way, I expect Mr. Ratcliff any hour 
now.” 

“ I thought he was in Fort Lafayette ! ” replied Clara, trying 
to steady her voice and conceal her agitation. 

“ No. He succeeded in escaping. His letter is dated Rich- 
mond.” 

Clara made no reply, and the old lawyer passed out, mutter- 
ing : “ Poor little simpleton. ’T is only a freak. No woman in 
her senses could resist such an offer. She ’ll thank me one of 
these days for my anaesthetic practice.” 


382 


PECULIAB. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


SEEING IS BELIEVING. 


“ It Is a very obvious principle, although often forgotten in the pride of prejudice and 
of controversy, that what has been seen by one pair of human eyes is of force to coun- 
tervail all that has been reasoned or guessed at by a thousand human understand- 
ings.” — Rev. Thomas Chalmers. 



HEN, after some detention, Esha returned to the gar- 


Y t den, and could not see. Clara, she ran up-stairs and 
sought her in all the rooms. Then returning to the garden 
she looked in the summer-house, in the grape-arbor, every- 
where without avail. Suddenly she caught sight of a small 
black girl, a sort of under-drudge in the kitchen, who was 
standing with mouth distended, showing her white teeth, and 
grinning at Esha’s discomfiture. It was the work of a moment 
for Eslia to seize the hussy, drag her into the wash-house, and 
by the aid of certain squeezings, liberally applied to her cer- 
vical vertebrae, to compel her to extrude the fact that Missie 
Clara had been forcibly carried off by two men, and placed in 
a carriage, which had been driven fast away. 

When Esha communicated this startling information to Ma- 
dame Volney, the wrath of the latter was terrible to behold. It 
was well for Lawyer Semmes that his good stars kept him that 
moment from encountering the quadroon lady, else a sudden 
stop might have been put to his professional usefulness. 

After she had recovered from her first shock of anger, she 
asked : “ Why has n’t Peek been here these five days ? ” 

“ ’Cause he ’eluded ’t wan’t safe,” replied Esha. “ He seed 
ole Semmes war up ter su’thin, an’ so he keep dark.” 


“ Well, Esha, we must see Peek. You know where he 
lives?” 

“ Yes, Missis, but we mus’ be car’ful ’bout lettin’ anybody 
foller us.” 

“ We can look out for that. Come ! Let us start at once.” 
The two women sallied forth into the street, and proceeded 


SEEING IS BELIEVING. 


383 


some distance, Esha looking frequently behind with a caution 
that proved to be not ill-timed. Suddenly she darted across 
the street, and going up to a negro-boy who stood looking with 
an air of profound interest at some snuff-boxes and pipes in 
the window of a tobacconist, seized him by the wool of his 
head and pulled him towards a carriage-stand, where she ac- 
costed a colored driver of her acquaintance, and said : “ Look 
har, Jube, you jes put dis little debble ob a spy on de box wid 
yer, and gib him a twenty minutes’ dribe, an’ den take him to 
Massa Ratcliff’s, open de door, an’ pitch him in, an’ I ’ll gib 
yer half a dollar ef yer ’ll do it right off an’ ahx no questions ; 
an’ ef he dars ter make a noise you jes put yer fingers har, 
— dy’e see, — and pinch his win’pipe tight. Doan let him git 
away on no account whatsomebber.” 

“ Seein’ as how jobs air scarss, Esha, doan’ car ef I do ; so 
hahnd him up.” 

Esha lifted the boy so that Jube could seize him by the 
slack of his breeches and pull him howling on to the driver’s 
seat. Then promising a faithful compliance with Esha’s or- 
ders, he received the half-dollar with a grin, and drove off. 
Rejoining Madame Volney, Esha conducted her through lanes'* 
and by-streets till they stopped before the house occupied by 
Peek. He was at home, and asked them in. 

“ Are you sure you were n’t followed ? ” was his first in- 
quiry. Esha replied by narrating the summary proceedings 
she had taken to get rid of the youth who had evidently been 
put as a spy on her track. 

“ That was well done, Esha,” said Peek. “ Remember 
you ’ve got the sharpest kind of an old lawyer to deal with ; 
and you must skin your eyes tight if you ’spect to ’scape being 
tripped.” 

“ Wish I ’d thowt ob dat dis mornin’, Peek ; for ole Semmcs 
has jes done his wustest, — carried off dat darlin’ chile, Miss 
Clara.” 

Peek could hardly suppress a groan at the news. 

“ Now what ’s to be done ? ” said Madame Volney. “ Think 
of something quickly, or I shall go mad. That smooth-tongued 
Semmes, — 0 that I had the old scoundrel here in my grip ! 
Can’t you find out where he has taken that dear child ? ” 


384 


PECULIAR. 


“ That will be difficult, I fear,” said Peek ; “ difficult for the 
reason that Semmes will be on the alert to baffle us. He will 
of course conclude that some of us will be on his track. He 
would turn any efforts we might make to dog him directly 
against us, arresting us when we thought ourselves most secure, 
just as the boy-detective was arrested by Esha.” 

“ But what if Ratcliff should return ? ” 

“ That ’s what disturbs me ; for the papers say he has es- 
caped.” 

“ Then he may be here any moment ? ” 

“ F or that we must be prepared.” 

“ But that is horrible ! I pledged my word — my very life 
— that the poor child should be saved from his clutches. She 
must be saved ! Money can do it, — can’t it ? ” 

“ Brains can do it better.” 

“ Let both be used. Is not this a case where some medium 
can help us ? Why not consult Bender ? ” 

“ There is, perhaps, one chance in a hundred that he might 
guide us aright,” said Peek. “ That chance I will try, but I 
have little hope he will find her. During the years I have 
been searching for my wife I have now and then sought infor- 
mation about her from clairvoyants ; but always without suc- 
cess. The kingdom of God cometh not with observation. So 
with these spiritual doings. Look for them, and you don’t find 
them. Don’t look, and they come. I once knew a colored 
boy, a medium, who was lifted to the ceiling before my eyes in 
the clear moonlight. A white man offered him a hundred dol- 
lars if he would show him the same thing ; but it could n’t be. 
No sooner had the wdiite man gone than the boy was lifted, 
while the rest of us were not expecting it, and carried back- 
ward and forward through the air for a full minute. Seeing is 
believing.” 

“ But we ’ve no time for talking, Peek. We must act. How 
shall we act ? ” 

“ Can you give me any article of apparel which Miss Clara 
has recently worn, — a glove, for instance ? ” 

“ Yes, that can easily be got.” 

u Send it to me at once. Send also a glove which the lawyer 
has worn. Do not let the two come in contact. And be careful 
your messenger is not tracked.” 


SEEING IS BELIEVING. 


385 


(t Do you mean to take the gloves to a clairvoyant ? ” 

“ Not to a clear-see'er, but to a clear-smeller, — in short, to 
a four-footed medium, a bloodhound of my acquaintance.” 

“ O, but what hound can keep the scent through our streets ? ’*• 

“ If any one can, Victor can.” 

“Well, only do something, and that quickly, for I’m dis- 
tracted,” said Madame Volney, her tears flowing profusely. 

“ Come, Esha, we ’ll take a carriage at the corner, and drive 
home.” 

“ Not at the corner ! ” interposed Peek. “ Go to some more 
distant stand. Move always as if a spy were at your heels.” 

The two women passed into the street. Half an liQur after- 
wards Esha returned with the glove. There was a noise of 
firing. 

“ Dem guns am fur de great vict’ry down below,” said Esha. 
u De Yankees, dey say, liab been beat off han’some at Fort 
Jackson; an’ ole Farragut he’s backed out; fines he can’t 
come it. But, jes you wait, Peek. Dese Yankees liab an 
awful way of holdin’ on. Dey doan know when dey air fair 
beat. Dey crow loudest jes when dey owt ter shut up and 
gib in.” 

Esha slipped out of the house, looking up and down the 
street to see if she were watched, and Peek soon afterwards 
passed out and walked rapidly in the direction of St. Genevieve 
Street. The great thoroughfares were filled with crowds of 
excited people. The stars and bars, emblem of the perpetuity 
of slavery, were flaunted in liis face at every crossing. The 
newspapers that morning had boasted how impregnable were 
the defences. The hated enemy — the mean and cowardly 
Yankees — had received their most humiliating rebuff. Forts 
Jackson and St. Philip and the Confederate ram had proved 
too much for them. 

Peek stopped at a small three-story brick house of rather 
shabby exterior and rang the bell. The door was opened by 
an obese black woman with a flaming red and yellow handker- 
chief on her head. In the entry-way a penetrating odor of 
"fried sausages rushed upward from the kitchen and took him 
by the throat. 

“ Does Mr. Bender, board here ? ” 

17 


T 


386 


PECULIAR. 


“ Yes, sar, go up two pair ob stairs, an’ knock at de fust door 
yer see, an’ he ’ll come.” 

Peek did as he was directed. “ J. Bender , Consulting Me- 
%‘Mm,” appeared and asked him in. A young and not ill-look- 
ing man, in shabby-genteel attire. Shirt dirty, but the bosom 
ornamented with gold studs. Vest of silk worked with sprigs 
of flowers in all the colors of the rainbow. His coat had been 
thrown off. His pantaloons were of the light-blue material 
which the war was making fashionable. He was smoking a 
cigar, and his breath exhaled a suspicion of whiskey. 

“ How is business, Mr. Bender ? ” asked Peek. 

“ Very slim just now,” said Bender. “ This war fills peo- 
ple’s minds. Can I do anything for you to-day ? ” 

“ Yes. You remember the young woman at the house I 
took you to the other day, — the one whose name you said was 
Clara?” 

“ I remember. She paid me handsomely. Much obliged to 
you for taking me. Will you have a sip of Bourbon ? ” 

“ No, thank you. I don’t believe in anything stronger than 
water. I want to know if you can tell me where in the city 
that young lady now is.” 

Bender put down his cigar, clasped his hands, laid them on 
the table, and closed his eyes. In a minute his whole face 
seemed transfigured. A certain sensual expression it had worn 
was displaced by one of rapt and tender interest. The lids of 
the eyes hung loosely over the uprolled balls. He looked five 
years younger. He sighed several times heavily, moved his 
lips and throat as if laboring to speak, and then seemed ab- 
sorbed as if witnessing unspeakable things. He remained thus 
four or five minutes, and then put out his hands and placed 
them on one of Peek’s. 

“ Ah ! this is a good hand,” said the young seer ; “ I like the 
feel of it. I wish his would speak as well of him.” 

“ Of whom do you mean ? ” 

“ Of this one whose hands are on yours. Ah ! he is weak 
and you are strong. He knows the right, but he will not do 
the right. He knows there is a heaven, and yet he walks 
hellward.” 

“ Can we not save him ? ” asked Peek. 


SEEING IS BELIEVING. 


387 


“ No. His own bitter experiences must be his tutor.” 

“ Why will he try to deceive,” asked Peek ; — “to deceive 
sometimes even in these manifestations of his wonderful gift ? " 
“ You see it is the very condition of that gift that he should 
be impressible to influences whether good or bad. He takes 
his color from the society which encamps around him. Some- 
times, as now, the good ones come, and then so bitterly he 
bewails his faults ! Sometimes the bad get full possession of 
him, and he is what they will, — a drunkard, a liar, a thief, a 
scoffer. Yes ! I have known him to scoff at these great facts 
which make spirit existence to him a certainty.” 

“ Can I help him in any way ? Will money aid him to 
throw off the bad influences?” 

“ No. Poor as he is, he has too much money. He does n’t 
know the true uses of it. He must learn them through suffer- 
ing. Leave him to the discipline of the earth-life. You know 
what that is. How much you have passed through ! How 
sad, and yet how brave and cheerful you have been ! It all 
comes to me as I press the palm of your hand. Ah ! you have 
sought her so long and earnestly ! And you cannot find her ! 
And you think she is faithful to you still ! ” 

“Yes, and neither mortal nor spirit could make me think 
otherwise. But tell me where I shall look for her.” 

The young man lifted the black hand to his white forehead 
and pressed the palm there for a moment, and then, with a 
sigh, laid it gently on the table, and said : “ It is of no use. I 
get confused impressions, — nothing clear and forcible. Why 
have you not consulted me before about your wife ? ” 

“ Because, first, I wished to leave it to you to find out what 
I wanted ; and this you have done at last. Secondly, I did not 
think I could trust you, or rather the intelligences that might 
speak through you. But you have been more candid than I 
expected. You have not pretended, as you often do, to more 
knowledge than you really possess.” 

“ The reason is, that I am now admitted into a state where 
I can look down on myself as from a higher plane ; so that I 
feel like a different being from myself, and must distinguish be- 
tween me, as I now am, and him as he usually is. Do you 
know what is truly the hell of evil-doers ? It is to see them - 


388 


PECULIAR. 


selves as they are , and God as he is.* These tame preachers 
rave about hell-fire and lakes of sulphur. What poor, feeble, 
halting imaginations they have ! Better beds of brimstone 
than a couch of down on which one lies seeing what he might 
have been, but is n’t, — then seeing what he is / But pardon 
me ; your mind is preoccupied with the business on which you 
came. You are anxious and impatient.” 

“ Can you tell me,” asked Peek, “ what it is about ? ” 

The clairvoyant folded his arms, and, bending down his head, 
seemed for a minute lost in contemplation. Then looking up 
(if that can be said of him while his external eyes were 
closed), he remarked: “The bloodhound will put you through. 
Only persevere.” 

“ And is that all you can tell me ? ” inquired Peek. 

“ Yes. Why do you seem disappointed ? ” 

“ Because you merely give me the reflection of what is in 
my own mind. You offer me no information which may not 
have come straight from your own power of thought-reading. 
You show me no proof that your promise may not be simply 
the product of my own sanguine calculations.” 

“ I cannot tell you how it is,” replied the clairvoyant ; “ I 
say what I am impressed to say. I cannot argue the point 
with you, for I have no reasons to give.” 

“ Then I must go. What shall I pay ? ” 

“ Pay him his usual fee, two dollars. Not a cent more.” 

The clairvoyant sighed heavily, and leaning his elbows on the 
table, covered his face with his hands. He remained in this 
posture for nearly a minute. Suddenly he dropped his hands, 
shook himself, and started up. His eyes were open. He 
stared wildly about, then seemed to slip back into his old self. 
The former unctuous, villanous expression returned to his face. 

He looked round for his half-smoked cigar, which he took up 
and relighted. 

Peek drew two dollars from a purse, and offered them to him. 

“ I reckon you can afford more than that,” said Mr. Bender. 

“ That ’s your regular fee,” replied Peek. “ I have n’t been 
here half an hour.” 

*The actual definition given by E. A., one of the Rev. Chauncy Hare < 
Townshend’s mesmerized subjects. 


SEEING IS BELIEVING. 


389 


te O well, we won’t dispute about it,” said the medium, thrust- 
ing the rags into a pocket of liis vest. 

Peek left the house, the dinner-bell sounding as he passed 
out, and another whiff from the breath of the sausage-fiend 
that presided over that household pursuing him into the street. 

The course he now took was through stately streets occupied 
by large and showy houses. He stopped before one, on the 
door-plate of which was the name, Lovell. Here his friend 
Lafour lived as coachman. For two weeks they had not met. 
Peek was about to pass round and ring at the servant’s door on 
the basement story of the side, when an orange was thrown 
from an upper window and fell near his feet. He looked up. 
An old black woman was gesticulating to him to go away. 
Peek was quick to take a hint. He strolled away as far as he 
could get without losing sight of the house. Soon he saw the 
old woman hobble out and approach him. He slipped into an 
arched passage-way, and she joined him. 

“ What ’s the matter, mother ? ” 

“ Matter enough. De debble’s own time, and all troo you, 
Peek. I ’se been watchin’ fur yer all de time dese five days.” 

“ Explain yourself. How have I brought trouble on An- 
toine ? ” 

“ Dat night you borrid de ole man’s carriage, — dat was de 
mischief. Policeman come las’ week, an’ take Antoine off ter 
de calaboose. Tree times dey lash him ter make him tell whar 
dey can find you ; but he tell ’em, so help him God, he dun 
know noting ’bout yer.” 

Peek reflected for a moment, and then recalled the fact that 
Myers, the detective, had got sight of the coat-of-arms on the 
carriage. Yes ! the clew was slight, but it was sufficient. 

“ My poor Antoine ! ” said Peek. “ Must he, then, suffer 
for me ? Tell me, mother, what has become of Victor, his 
dog ? ” 

“ Goramity ! dat dog know more ’n half de niggers. He 
would n’t stay in dat house ahfer Antoine lef ; could n’t make 
him do it, no how.” 

“ Where shall I be likely to find the dog ? ” 

“ ’Bout de streets somewhar, huntin’ fur Antoine. Ef dat 
dumb critter could talk, he ’d ’stonish us all.” 


39a 


PECULIAR. 


“Well, mother, thank you for all your trouble. Here’s a 
dollar to buy a pair of shoes with. Good by.” 

The old woman’s eyes snapped as she clutched the money 
and with a “ Bress yer, Peek ! ” hobbled away. 

The rest of that day Peek devoted to a search for Victor. 
He sought him near the stable, — in the blacksmith’s shop, — 
in the market, — at the few houses which Antoine frequented ; 
but no Victor could be found. At last, late at night, weary 
and desponding, Peek retraced his steps homeward ; and as he 
took out the door-key to enter the house, the dog he had been 
looking for rose from the upper step, and came down wagging 
his tail, and uttering a low squealing note of satisfaction. 

“ Why, Victor, is this you ? I ’ve been looking for you all 
day.” 

The dog, as if he fully understood the remark, wagged his 
tail with increased vigor, and then checked himself in a bark 
which tapered off into a confidential whine, as if he were afraid 
of being heard by some detective. 

Victor was a cross between a Scotch terrier and a thorough- 
bread Cuba bloodhound, imported for hunting runaway slaves. 
He combined the good traits of both breeds. He had the accu- 
rate scent, the large size and black color of the hound, the wiry 
hair, the tenacity, and the affectionate nature of the terrier. 
In the delicate action of his expressive nose, you saw keenness 
of scent in its most subtle inquisitions. 

Late as was the hour, Peek (who, in the event of being 
stopped, had the mayor’s pass for his protection) determined 
on an instant trial of the dog’s powers, for the exercise of 
which perhaps the night would in this instance be the most 
favorable time. He took him to Semmes’s office, and making 
him scent the lawyer’s glove, indicated a wish to have him find 
out his trail. Victor either would not or could not understand 
what was wanted. He threw up his nose as if in contempt, 
and turned away from the glove as if he desired to have noth- 
ing to do with it. Then he would run away a short distance, 
and come back, and rise with his fore feet on Peek’s breast. 
He repeated this several times, and at last Peek said : “ Well, 
have your own way. Go ahead, old fellow.” 

Victor thanked him in another low whine, uttered as if ad- 


SEEING IS BELIEVING, 


391 * 


dressed exclusively to his private ears, and then trotted off, 
assured that Peek was following. In half an hour’s time, he 
stopped before a square whitewashed building with iron-grated 
windows. 

“ Confound you, Victor ! ” muttered Peek. “ You Ve told 
me nothing new, bringing me here. I was already aware your 
master was in jail. I can do nothing for him. Can’t you do 
better than that ? Come along ! ” 

Returning to Semmes’s office, Peek tried once more to in- 
terest the dog in the glove ; but- Victor tossed his nose away as 
if in a pet. He would have nothing to do with it. 

“ Come along, then, you rascal,” said Peek. “ We can do 
nothing further to-night. Come and share my room with me.” 

He reached home as the clock struck one. Victor followed 
him into the house, and eagerly disposed of a supper of bones 
and milk. Peek then went up to bed and threw down a mat 
by the open window, upon which the dog stretched himself as 
if he were quite as tired as his human companion. 


392 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XL 


THE REMARKABLE MAN AT RICHMOND. 


“ Let me have men about me that are fat *, 
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o’ nights : 
Yond’ Cassius has a lean and hungry look.” 


Shakespeare. 


ES, Ratcliff had escaped. His temper had not beer 



1 sweetened by his forced visit to the North. In For* 
Lafayette he had for a while given way to the sulks. Their 
lie changed his tactics. Finding that Surgeon Mooney, thougt 
a Northern man, had conservative notions on the subject of the 
“ nigger he addressed himself to the work of befooling tha/ 

OO 7 o 

functionary. Inasmuch as Nature had already half done it tc 
his hands, he did not find the task a difficult one. 

In his imprisonment Ratcliff had ample time for indulging in 
day-dreams. He grew almost maudlin over that photograpl 
of Clara. Yes ! By his splendid generosity he would bind tf 
him forever that beautiful young girl. 

He must transmit his proud name to legitimate children 
He must be the founder of a noble house ; for the Confed 
eracy, when triumphant, would undoubtedly have its orders ol 
nobility. A few years in Europe with such a wife would suit 
him admirably. Slidell and Mason, having been released from 
Fort Warren in Boston harbor, would be proud to take him 
by the hand and introduce him and his to the best society. 

These visions came to soften his chagrin and mitigate the 
tediousness of imprisonment. But he now grew impatient for 
the fulfilment of his schemes. Delay had its dangers. True, 
he confided much in the vigilance of Semmes, but Semmes 
was an old man, and might drop off any day. A beautiful 
white slave was a very hazardous piece of property. 

It was not difficult for Ratcliff to persuade Surgeon Mooney 
that his health required greater liberty of movement. At a 
time when, under the Davis regime , sick and wounded United 


THE REMARKABLE MAN AT RICHMOND. 


393 


States soldiers, imprisoned at Richmond in filthy tobacco-ware- 
houses, were, in repeated instances, brutally and against all 
civilized usages shot dead for going to the windows to inhale 
a little fresh air, the National authorities were tender to a 
degree, almost ludicrous in contrast, of the health and rights 
of Rebel prisoners. If any of these were troubled with a 
bowel complaint or a touch of lumbago, the “ central despotism 
at Washington” was denounced, by journals hostile to the war, 
as responsible for the affliction, and the people were called on 
to rescue violated Freedom from the clutches of an insidious 
tyrant, even from plain, scrupulous “ old Abe,” son of a poor 
Kentuckian who could show no pedigree, like Colonel Delaney 
Hyde and Jefferson Davis. 

A pathetic paragraph appeared in one of the newspapers, 
giving a piteous story of a “loyal citizen of New Orleans,” 
who, for no namable offence, was made to pine in a foul dun- 
geon to satisfy the personal pique of Mr. Secretary Stanton. 
Soon afterwards a remonstrance in behalf of this victim of 
oppression was signed by Surgeon Mooney. Ratcliff, whom 
the public sympathy had been led to picture as in the last 
stage of a mortal malady, was forthwith admitted to extraor- 
dinary privileges. He was enabled to communicate clandes- 
tinely with friends in New York. He soon managed to get on 
board a Nova Scotia coasting schooner. A week afterwards, 
he succeeded in running the blockade, and in disembarking 
safely at Wilmington, N. C. 

Anxious as he was to get home, he must first go to Rich- 
mond to pay his respects to “ President ” Davis, of whom 
everybody at the South used to say to Mr. W. H. Russell 
of the London Times, “ Don’t you think our President is a 
remarkable man ? ” Ratcliff was not unknown to Davis, and 
sent up his card. It drew forth an immediate “ Show him in.” 
The “ remarkable man ” sat in his library at a small table 
strewn with letters and manuscripts. A thin, Cassius-like, 
care-burdened figure, slightly above the middle height. Wliat 
some persons called dignity in his manner was in truth merely 
ungracious stiffness ; while his hauteur was the unquiet arro- 
gance that fears it shall not get its due. His face was not 
that of a man who could prudently afford to sneer (as he had 
16 * 


394 


PECULIAR. 


publicly done) at Abraham Lincoln’s homeliness. But before 
him lay letters on which the postage-stamp was an absurdly 
flattered likeness of himself, — as like him as the starved 
apothecary is like Jupiter Tonans. 

In the original the cheeks were shrunken and sallow, leav- 
ing the bones high and salient. The jaws were thin and 
hollow ; the forehead wrinkled and out of all proportion with 
the lower part of the face ; the eyes deep-set, and one of them 
dulled by a severe neuralgic affection. The lips were too thin, 
and there was no sweetness in the mouth. The whole expres- 
sion was that of one whose besetting characteristic is. an intense 
self-consciousness. 

This man could not be betrayed into the ease and abandon 
of one of nature’s noblemen, for he was never thinking so 
much of others as of himself. The absence in him of all geni- 
ality of manner was not the reserve of a gentleman, but the 
frigidity of an unsympathetic and unassured heart. There was 
little in him of the Southern type of manhood. It is not to be 
wondered that bluff General Taylor could not overcome his 
repugnance to him as a son-in-law. 

Although at the head of the Rebellion, this man had no vital 
faith in it ; no enthusiasm that could magnetize others by a 
noble contagion. He was not a fanatic, like Stonewall Jackson. 
And yet, just previously to Ratcliff’s call, he had been exercised 
in mind about joining the church, — a step he finally took. 

He had few of the qualities of a statesman. His petty ma- 
lignities overcame all sense of the proprieties becoming his 
station ; for he would give way, even in his public official ad- 
dresses, to scurrilities which had the meanness without the 
virility of the slang of George Sanderson, and which showed a 
lack of the primary elements of a heroic nature. 

A man greatly overrated as to abilities. A repudiator of 
the sacred obligations assumed by his State, it was his added 
infelicity to be defended by John Slidell. Never respected 
for truthfulness by those who knew him best. Future histo- 
rians will contrast him with President Lincoln, and will show 
that, while the latter surpassed him immeasurably in high 
moral attributes, he was also his superior in intellectual pith. 

The interview between Ratcliff and Davis began with an 


THE REMARKABLE MAN AT RICHMOND. 


395 


interchange of views on the subject of New Orleans. Each 
cheered the other with assurances of the impracticability of the 
Federal attack. After public affairs had been discussed, the 
so-called President said : “ Excuse me for not having asked 
after Mrs. Ratcliff. Is she well?” 

“ She died some time since,” replied Ratcliff. 

“ Indeed ! In these times of general bereavement we find 
it impossible to keep account of our friends.” 

“ It is my purpose, Mr. President, to marry soon again. 
You have yourself set the example of second nuptials, and I 
believe the experiment has been a happy one.” 

“ Yes ; may yours be as fortunate ! Who is the lady ? ” 

“ A young person not known in society, but highly respecta- 
ble and well educated. I shall have the pleasure to present 
her to you here in Richmond in the course of the summer.” 

“Mrs. Davis will be charmed to make her acquaintance. 
Come and help us celebrate Lee’s next great victory.” 

“ Thank you. If I can get my affairs into position, I may 
wish to pass the next year in Europe with my new wife. It 
would not be difficult, I suppose, for you to give me some diplo- 
matic stamp that would make me pass current.” 

“ The government will be disposed, no doubt, to meet your 
views. We are likely to want some accredited agent in Spain. 
A post that would enable you to fluctuate between Madrid and 
Paris would be not an unpleasant one.” 

“ It would suit me entirely, Mr. President.” 

u You may rely on my friendly consideration.” 

“ Thank you. How about foreign recognition ? ” 

“ Slidell writes favorably as to the Emperor’s predispositions. 
In England, the aristocracy and gentry, with most of the trad- 
ing classes, undoubtedly favor our cause. They desire to see the 
Union permanently broken up, and will help' us all they can. 
But they must do this indirectly, seeing that the mass of the 
English people, the rabble rout, even the artisans, thrown out 
of employment by this war, sympathize with the plebeians of 
the North rather than with us, the true master race of this 
continent, the patricians of the South.” 

“ I ’m glad to see, Mr. President, you characterize the North- 
ern scum as they deserve, — descendants of the refuse sent 
over by Cromwell.” 


396 


PECULIAR. 


“ Yes, Mr. Ratcliff, you and I who are gentlemen by birth 
and education, — and whose ancestors, further back than the 
Norman Conquest, were all gentlemen,* — can poorly disguise 
our disgust at any association with Yankees.” 

“ Gladstone says you ’ve created a nation, Mr. President.” 

“ Yes ; Gladstone is a high-toned gentleman. His ancestors 
made their fortunes in the Liverpool slave-trade.” 

“ Have you any assurances yet from Mason ? ” 

“Nothing decisive. But the eagerness of the Ministry to 
humble the North in the Trent affair shows the real animus 
of the ruling classes in England. Lord John disappoints me 
occasionally. Bad blood there. But the rest are all right.” 

“ A pity they could n’t put their peasantry into the condition 
of our slaves ! ” 

“ A thousand pities ! But the new Confederacy must be a 
Missionary to the Nations, f to teach the ruling classes through- 
out the world, that slavery is the normal status for the mechanic 
and the laborer. Meanwhile the friends of monarchy in Eu- 
rope must foresee that such a triumph as republicanism would 
have in the restoration of the old Union, with slavery no longer 
a power in the land, and with an army and navy the first in the 
world, would be an appalling spectacle.” 

“ What do you hear from Washington, Mr. President ? ” 

“ The last I heard of the gorilla, he was investigating the 
so-called spiritual phenomena. The letter-writers tell of a 
medium having been entertained at the White House.” 

Here Mr. Memminger came in to talk over the state of the 
Rebel exchequer, — a subject which Mr. Davis generally dis- 
posed of by ignoring ; his old experience in repudiation teach- 
ing him that the best mode of fancy financiering was, — if we 
may descend to the vernacular, — to “ go it blind.” 

“ I ’ll intrude no longer on your precious time,” said Ratcliff. 
“ I go home to send you word that the renegade Tennessean, 
Farragut, and that peddling lawyer from Lowell, Picayune 
Butler, have been spued out of the mouths of the Mississippi.” 

The “ President ” rose, pressed Ratcliff’s proffered hand, and, 
with a stiff, angular bow, parted from him at the door. 

* Mr. Davis’s father was a “ cavalier.” He dealt in horses. 

t “Reverently, we feel that our Confederacy is a God-sent missionary to 
the nations, with great truths to preach.” —Richmond Enquirer. 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


397 


CHAPTER XLI, 

HOPES AND FEARS. 

“ In the same brook none ever bathed him twice : 

To the same life none ever twice awoke.” 

Young. 

T HREE days after his interview with the “remarkable 
man,” Ratcliff was at Montgomery, Ala. There he tele- 
graphed to Semmes, and received these words in reply : “ All 
safe. On your arrival, go first to my office for directions.” 
Ratcliff obeyed, and found a letter telling him not to go home, 
but to meet Semmes immediately at the house to which the 
latter had transferred the white slave. Half an hour did not 
elapse before lawyer and client sat in the curtained drawing- 
room of this house, discussing their affairs. 

“ I cannot believe,” said Ratcliff, “ that Josephine intended 
to have the girl escape. She was the first to plan this mar- 
riage.” 

“ I did not act on ' light grounds of suspicion,” replied 
Semmes. “ I had myself overheard remarks which convinced 
me that Madame was playing a double game. Either she or 
some one else has put it into the girl’s head that she is not law- 
fully a slave, but the kidnapped child of respectable parents.” 

As he spoke. these words Semmes looked narrowly at Rat- 
cliff, who blenched as if at an unexpected thrust. Following 
up his advantage, Semmes continued : “ And, by the way, there 
is one awkward circumstance which, if known, might make 
trouble. I see by examining the notary’s books, that, in the 
record of your proprietorship, you speak of the child as a 
quadroon. Now plainly she has no sign of African blood in 
her veins.” 

Ratcliff gnawed his lips a moment, and then remarked: 
“ The fact that the record speaks of the child as a quadroon 
does not amount to much. She may have been born of a 
quadroon mother, and may have been tanned while an infant 


398 


PECULIAR. 


so as to appear herself like a quadroon ; and subsequently her 
skin may have turned fair. All that will be of little account. 
Half of the white slaves in the city would not be suspected of 
having African blood in their veins, but for the record. Who 
would think of disputing my claim to a slave, — one, too, that 
had been held by me for some fifteen years ? ” 

Well might Ratcliff ask the question. It is true that the 
laws of Louisiana had some ameliorated features that seemed 
to throw a sort of protection round the slave ; and one of these 
wrns the law preventing the separation of young children from 
their mothers under the hammer ; and making ownership in 
slaves transferable, not by a mere bill of sale, like a bale of 
goods, but by deed formally recorded by a notary. But it is 
none the less true that such are the necessities of slavery that 
the law was often a dead letter. There was always large room 
for evasion and injustice ; and the man who should look too 
curiously into transactions, involving simply the lights of the 
slave, would be pretty sure to have his usefulness cut short by 
being denounced as an Abolitionist. 

The ignominious expulsion of Mr. Hoar who went to South 
Carolina, not to look after the rights of slaves, but of colored 
freemen, was a standing warning against any philanthropy that 
had in view the enforcement or testing of laws friendly to the 
blacks. 

“ I should not be surprised,” remarked Semmes, “ if this 
young woman either has, or believes she has, some proofs 
invalidating your claim to hold her as a chattel.” 

“ Bah ! I ’ve no fear of that. Who, in the. name of all the 
fairies, does the little woman imagine she is ? ” 

“ She cherishes the notion that she is the daughter of that 
same Henry Berwick who was lost in the Pontiac. Should 
that be so, the house you live in is hers. That would be odd, 
would n’t it ? You seem surprised. Is there any probability 
in the tale ? ” 

“ None whatever ! ” exclaimed Ratcliff, affecting to laugh, 
but evidently preoccupied in mind, and intent on following out 
some vague reminiscence. 

He remembered that the infant he had bought as a slave 
and taken into his barouche wore a chemise on which were 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


399 


initial letters marked in silk. He was struck at the time by 
the fineness of the work and of the fabric. He now tried to 
recall those initial letters. By their mnemonic association with 
a certain word, he had fixed them in his mind. He strove to 
recall that word. Suddenly he started up. The word had 
come back to him. It was cab. The initials were C. A. B. 
Semmes detected his emotion, and drew his own inferences 
accordingly. 

“ By the way,” said he, “ having a little leisure last night, I 
looked back through an old file of the Bee newspaper, and 
there hit upon a letter from the pen of a passenger, written a 
few days after the explosion of the Pontiac.” 

“ Indeed ! One would think, judging from the trouble you 
take about it, you attached some degree of credence to this fan- 
ciful story.” 

“ No. ’T is quite incredible. But a lawyer, you know, 
ought to be prepared on all points, however trivial, affecting his 

I client’s interests.” 

“ Did you find anything to repay you for your search ? ” 

“ I will read you a passage from the letter ; which letter, by 
the way, bears the initials A. L., undoubtedly, as I infer from 
the context, those of Arthur Laborie, whose authority no one 
in New Orleans will question. Here is the passage. The let- 
ter is in French. I will translate as I read : — 

“ ‘ Among the mortally wounded was a Mr. Berwick of 
New York, a gentleman of large wealth. They had pointed 
him out to me the day before, as, with a wife and infant child, 
the latter in the arms of a nurse, a colored woman, he stood on 
the hurricane-deck. The wife was killed, probably by the in- 
halation of steam. I saw and identified the body. The child, 
they said, was drowned ; if so, the body was not recovered. A 
colored boy reported, that the day after the accident he had seen 
a white child and a mulatto woman, probably from the wreck, in 
the care of two white men ; that the men told him the woman 
was crazy, and that the child belonged to a friend of theirs 
who had been drowned. I give this report, in the hope it may 
reach the eyes of some friend of the Benvicks, though it did 
not seem to make much impression on the officials who con- 
ducted the investigation. Probably they had good reason for 
dismissing the testimony ; for Mr. Berwick died in the full be- 
lief that his wife and child had already passed away.’ ” 


400 


PECULIAR. 


“ I don’t see anything in all that,” said Ratcliff, impatiently. 

“ Perhaps not,” replied Semmes ; “ but an interested lawyer 
would see a good deal to set him thinking and inquiring. The 
letter, having been published in French, may not have met the 
eyes of any one to whom the information would have been 
suggestive.” 

“ Really, Semmes, you seem to be trying to make out a 
case.” 

“ The force of habit. ’Tis second nature for a lawyer to re- 
volve such questions. Many big cases are built on narrower 
foundations.” 

“ Psha ! The incident might do very well in a romance, 
but ’tis not one of a kind known to actual life.” 

“ Pardon me. Incidents resembling it are not infrequent. 
There was the famous Burrows case, where a child stolen by 
Indians was recovered and identified in time to prevent the 
diversion of a large property. There was the case of Aubert, 
where a quadroon concubine managed to substitute her own 
child in the place of the legitimate heir. Indeed, I could men- 
tion quite a number of cases, not at all dissimilar, and some of 
them having much more of the quality of romance.” 

“ Damn it, Semmes, what are you driving at ? Do you want 
to take a chance in that lottery ? ” 

“Have I ever deserted a client? "We must not shrink — 
we lawyers — from looking a case square in the face.” 

“ Nonsense ! The art how not to see is that which the pru- 
dent lawyer is most solicitous to learn. It is not by looking a 
case square in the face, but by looking only at his side of it, 
that he wins.” 

“ On the contrary, the man of nerve looks boldly at the dan- 
ger, and fends off accordingly. Should you marry this young 
lady, it may be a very pleasant thing to know that she ’s the 
true heir to a million.” 

“ Curse me, but I did n’t think of that ! ” cried Ratcliff, rub- 
bing his hands, and then patting the lawyer on the shoulder. 
“ Go on with your investigations, Semmes ! Hunt up more in- 
formation about the Pontiac. Go and see Laborie. Question 
Ripper, the auctioneer. I left him in Montgomery, but he will 
be at the St. Charles to-morrow. Find out who Quattles was) 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


401 


and who the Colonel was who acted as Quattles’s friend, but 
whose name I forget. ’T is barely possible there may have 
been some little irregularities practised ; and if so, so much 
the better for me ! What fat pickings for you, Semmes, if we 
could make it out that this little girl is the rightful heir ! All 
this New Orleans property can be saved from Confederate con- 
fiscation. And then, as soon as the war is ended, we can go 
and establish her rights in New York.” 

Semmes too^i pinch of snuff, and replied : “ You remember 
Mrs. Glass’s well-worn receipt for cooking a hare : ‘ First, 
catch your hare.’ So I say, first make sure that the young girl 
will say yes to your proposition.” 

“ What ! do you entertain a doubt ? A slave ? One I could 
send to the auction-block to-morrow? Do you imagine she 
will decline an alliance with Carberry Ratcliff? Look you, 
Semmes! I’ve set my heart on this marriage more than I 
ever did on any other scheme in my whole life. The chance — 
for ’t is only a remote chance — that she is of gentle blood, — 
well-born, the rightful heir to a million, — this enhances the 
prize, and gives new piquancy to an acquisition already suffi- 
ciently tempting to my eyes. There must be no such word as 
fail in this business, Mr. Lawyer. You must help me to bring 
it to a prosperous conclusion instantly.” 

“ No : do not say instantly. Beware being precipitate. 
Remember what the poet says, — ‘ A woman’s No is but a 
crooked path unto a woman’s Yes.* Do not mind a first rebuff. 
Do not play the master. Be distant and respectful. Attempt 
no liberties. You will only shock and exasperate. By a gen- 
tle, insinuating course, you may win.” 

“ May win ? I must win, Semmes ! There must be no if 
about it.” 

“ I want to see you win, Ratcliff ; but show her you assume 
there ’s no if in the case, and you repel and alienate her.” 

“ I don’t know that. Most women like a man the better for 
being truly, as well as nominally, the lord and master. The 
more imperious he is, the more readily and tenaciously they 
cling to him. I don’t believe in letting a woman suppose that 
she can seize the reins when she pleases.” 

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders, then replied: “The 


402 


PECULIAR. 


tyrant is hated by every person of sense, whether man or wo- 
man. I grant you there are many women who have n’t much 
sense. But this little lady of yours is the last in the world on 
whom you can safely try the experiment of compulsion. Take 
my word for it, the true course is to let her suppose she is free 
to act. You must rule her by not seeming to rule.” 

“ Well, let me see the girl, and I can judge better then as 
to the fit policy. I ’ve encountered women before in my day. 
You don’t speak to a novice in woman-taming I never met 
but one yet who ventured to hold out against me, — and she 
got the worst of it, I reckon.” And a grim smile passed over 
Ratcliff’s face as he thought of Estelle. 

“You will find the young lady in the room corresponding 
with this, on the third story,” said the lawyer. “ The door is 
locked, but the key is on the outside. Please consider that my 
supervision ends here. I leave the servants in the house sub- 
ject to your command. The Sister Agatha in immediate 
attendance is a pious fool, who believes her charge is insane. 
She will obey you implicitly. Sam will attend to the market- 
ing. My own affairs now claim my attention. I ’ve suffered 
largely from their neglect during your absence. Be careful 
not to be seen coming in or going out of this house. I have 
used extreme precautions, and have thus far baffled those who 
wrnuld help the young woman to escape.” 

“I shall not be less vigilant,” replied Ratcliff*. “I accept 
the keys and the responsibility. Good by. I go to let the 
young woman know that her master has returned.” 

Ratcliff seized his hat and passed out of the room up-stairs 
as fast as his somewhat pursy habit of body would allow. 

“ There goes a man who puts his hat on the head of a fool,” 
muttered the old lawyer. “ Confound him ! If he were n’t so 
deep in my books, I would leave him to his own destruction, 
and join the enemy. I ’m not sure this would n’t be the best 
policy as it is.” 

Thus venting his anger in soliloquy Mr. Semmes quitted the 
house, and walked in meditative mood to his office. 


Ratcliff paused at the uppermost stair on the third story. 
From the room came the sound of a piano-forte, with a vocal 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


403 


accompaniment. Clara was singing “While Thee I seek, pro- 
tecting Power,” — a hymn which, though written by Helen 
Maria Williams when she thought herself a deist, is used by 
thousands of Christian congregations to interpret their highest 
mood of devout trust and pious resignation. As the clear, 
out-swelling notes fell on Ratcliff’s ears, he drew back as if a 
flaming sword had been waved menacingly before his face. 

He walked down into the room below and waited till the 
music was over; then he boldly proceeded up-stairs again, 
knocked at the door, unlocked it, and entered. Clara looked 
round from turning the leaves of a music-book, rose, and bent 
upon her visitor a penetrating glance as if she would fathom 
the full depth of his intents. Ratcliff advanced and put out 
his hand. She did not take it, but courtesied and motioned 
him to a seat. 

She was dressed in a flowing gauze-like robe of azure over 
white, appropriate to the warmth of the season. Her hair was 
j combed back from her forehead and temples, showing the full 
symmetry of her head. Her lips, of a delicate coral, parted 
; just enough to show the white perfection of her teeth. Rarely 
had she looked so dangerously beautiful. Ratcliff was swift to 
notice all these points. 

Assuming that a compliment on her personal appearance 
j could never come amiss to a woman, young or old, he said : 

| “ Upon my word, you are growing more beautiful every day, 
Miss Murray. I had thought there was no room for improve- 
; ment. I find my mistake.” 

Ratcliff looked narrowly to see if there were any expression 
of pleasure on her face, but it did not relax from its impene- 
j trability. 

“ Will you not be seated ? ” he asked. 

She sat down, and he followed her example. There was 
j silence for a moment. The master felt almost embarrassed 
I before the young girl he had so long regarded as a slave. 
Something like a genuine emotion began to stir in his heart as 
I he said : “ Miss Murray, you are well aware that I am the 
I only person to whom you are entitled to look for protection and 
I support. From an infant you have beenninder my charge, and 
I hope you will admit that I have not been ungenerous in pro- 
| viding for you.” 


404 


PECULIAR. 


“One word, sir, at the outset, on that point,” interposed 
Clara. “ All the expense you have been at for me shall be 
repaid and overpaid at once with interest. You are aware I 
have the means to reimburse you fully.” 

“ Excuse me, Miss Murray ; without meaning to taunt you, 
. — simply to set you right in your notions, — let me remark, 
that, being my slave, you can hold no property independent of 
me. All you have is legally mine.” 

“ How can that be, sir, when what I have is entirely out of 
your power; safely deposited in the vaults of Northern banks, 
where your claim not only is not recognized, but where you 
could not go to enforce it without being liable to be arrested as 
a traitor ? ” 

A dark, savage expression flitted over Ratcliff’s face as he 
thought of the turn which his wife, aided by Winslow, had 
served him ; but he checked the ire which was rising to his 
lips, and replied : “ Let me beg you not to cherish an unprofit- 
able delusion, my dear Miss Murray. When this war termi- 
nates, as it inevitably will, in the triumph of the South, one of 
the conditions of peace which we shall impose on the North 
will be, that all claims resulting out of slavery, either through 
the abduction of slaves or the transfer of property held as 
theirs, shall be settled by the fullest indemnification to masters. 
In that event your little property, w r hich Mr. Winslow thinks 
he has hid safely away beyond my recovery, will be surely 
reached and returned to me, the law r ful owner.” 

“ Well, sir,” replied Clara, forcing a calmness at which she 
herself was surprised, “ supposing, what I do not regard as* 
probable, that the South will have its own w r ay in this Avar, 
and that my title to all property will be set aside as super- 
seded by yours, let me inform you that I have a friend who 
will come to my aid, and make you the fullest compensation 
for all the expense you have been at on my account.” 

“ Indeed ! Is there any objection to my knowing „o w r hat 
friend you allude ? ” 

“ None at all, sir. Madame Volney is that friend.” 

“Well, we will not discuss that point now r ,” said Ratcliff, 
smiling incredulously ,*gs he thought how speedily a few bland- 
ishments from him would overcome any resolution wdiich the 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


405 


lady referred to might form. “ My plans for you, Miss Mur- 
ray, are all honorable, and such as neither you nor the world 
can regard as other than generous. Consider what I might do 
if I were so disposed ! I could put you up at auction to-mor- 
row and sell you to some brute of a fellow who would degrade 
and misuse you. Instead of that, what do I propose ? First 
let me speak a few words of myself. I am, it is true, consid- 
erably your senior, but not old, and not ill-looking, if I may 
believe my glass. My property, already large, will be enor- 
mous the moment thevwar is over. I have bought within the 
last six months, at prices almost nominal, over a thousand 
slaves, whose value will be increased twenty-fold with the 
return of peace. My position in the new Confederacy will be 
among the foremost. Already President Davis has assured 
me that whatever I may ask in the way of a new foreign mis- 
sion I can have. Thus the lady who may link her fate with 
mine will be a welcome guest at all the courts of Europe. If 
she is beautiful, her beauty will be admired by princes, kings, 
and emperors. If she is intellectual, all the wits and great 
men of London and Paris will be ambitious to make her ac- 
quaintance. Now what do you think I propose for you ? ” 

“ Let me not disguise my knowledge,” replied Clara, looking 
him in the face till he dropped his eyelids. “ You propose that 
I should be your wife.” 

“ Ah ! Josephine has told you, then, has she ? And what 
did you say to it ? ” 

“ I said I could never say yes to such a proposition from a 
man who claimed me as a slave.” 

But what if I forego my claim, and give you free papevs?” 

“ Try it,” said Clara, sternly. 

“ Can you then give me any encouragement ? ” 

The idea was so hideous to her, and so strong her dis in Dona- 
tion to deceive, or to allow him to deceive himself, that she 
could not restrain the outburst of a hearty and emphatic 
“No!” 

Ratcliff’s eyes swam a moment with their old glitter that 
meant mischief ; but the recollection of his lawyer’s warning 
restored him to good humor. He resolved to bear with her 
waywardness at that first interview, and to let her say no as 
much as she pleased. 


406 


PECULIAR. 


“You say no now, but by and by you will say yes,” he 
replied. 

Clara had risen and was pacing the floor. Suddenly she 
stopped and said : “ My desire is to disabuse you wholly of 
any expectation, even the most remote, that I can ever change 
my mind on this point. Under no conceivable circumstances 
could I depart from my determination.” 

“ Tell me one thing,” replied Ratcliff. “ Do you speak thus 
because your affections are pre-engaged ? ” 

“ I do not,” said Clara ; “ and for that reason I can make 
my refusal all the more final and irrevocable ; for it is not 
biased by passion. I beg you seriously to dismiss all expecta- 
tion of ever being able to change my purpose ; and I propose 
you should receive for my release such a sum as may be a 
complete compensation for what you have expended on me.” 

Ratcliff had it in his heart to reply, “ Slave ! do your mas- 
ter’s bidding ” ; but he discreetly curbed his choler, and said, 
“ Can you give me any good reason for your refusal ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Clara, “ the best of reasons : one which no 
gentleman would wish to contend against : my inclinations will 
not let me accept your proposal.” 

“ Inclinations may change,” suggested Ratcliff. 

“ In this case mine can only grow more and more adverse,” 
replied Clara. 

Ratcliff found it difficult to restrain himself from assuming 
the tone that chimes so well with the snap of the plantation 
scourge ; and so he resolved to withdraw from the field for the 
present. He rose and said : “ As we grow better acquainted, 
my dear, I am persuaded your feelings will change. I have 
no wish to force your affections. That would be unchivalrous 
towards one I propose to place in the relation of a ivife.” 

He laid a significant emphasis on this last word, wife ; and 
Clara started as at some hideous object in her path. Was 
there, then, another relation in which he might seek to place 
her, if she persisted in her course ? And then she recollected 
Estelle ; and the flush of an angry disgust mounted to her 
brow. But she made no reply ; and Ratcliff, with his hateful 
gaze devouring her beauties to the last, passed out of the room. 

On the whole he felicitated himself on the interview. He 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


407 


thought he had kept his temper remarkably well, and had not 
allowed this privileged beauty to irritate him beyond the pru- 
dent point. He believed she could not resist so much suavity 
and generosity on his part. She had confessed she was heart- 
free : surely that was in his favor. It was rather provoking 
to have a slave put on such airs ; but then, by Jove, she was 
worth enduring a little humiliation for. Possibly, too, it might 
be high blood that told in her. Possibly she might be that 
last scion of the Berwick stock which an untoward fate had 
swept far from all signs of parentage. 

These considerations, while they disposed Ratcliff to leniency 
in judging of her waywardness, did but aggravate the importu- 
nity of his desires for the proposed alliance. Although hitherto 
his tastes had led him to admire the coarser types of feminine 
beauty, there was that in the very difference of Clara from all 
other women with whom he had been intimate, which gave 
novelty and freshness and an absorbing fascination to his pres- 
ent pursuit. The possession of her now was the prime neces- 
sity of his nature. That prize hung uppermost. Even Con- 
federate victories were secondary. Politics were forgotten. He 
did not ask to see the newspapers ; he did not seek to go abroad 
to confer with his political associates, and tell them all that he 
had seen and heard at Richmond. Semmes’s caution in regard 
to the danger of his being tracked had something to do with 
keeping him in the house ; but apart from this motive, the mere 
wish to be under the same roof with Clara, till he had secured 
her his beyond all hazard, would have been sufficient to keep 
him within doors. 


Ratcliff went down into the dining-room. The table was 
set for one. He thought it time to inquire into the arrange- 
ments of the household. He rang the bell, and it was answered 
by a slim, delicate looking mulatto man, having on the white 
apron of a waiter. 

“ What ’s your name, and whose boy are you ? ” asked Rat- 
cliff. 

“ My name is Sam, sir, and I belong to lawyer Semmes,” 
replied the man, smoothing the table-cloth, and removing a 
pitcher from the sideboard. 


403 


PECULIAR. 


“ What directions did he leave for you ? ” 

“ He told me to stay and wait upon you, sir, just as I had 
upon him, till you saw fit to dismiss me.” 

“ What other servants are there in the house ? ” 

“ One colored woman, sir, and one, a negro ; Manda the 
cook, and Agnes the chambermaid.” 

“ Any other persons ? ” 

“ Only the young woman that ’s crazy, and the Sister of 
Charity that attends her. They are on the third floor.” 

Ratcliff looked sharply at the mulatto, but could detect in 
his face no sign that he mistrusted the story of the insane 
woman. 

“ Send up the chambermaid,” said Ratcliff. 

“ Yes, sir. When will you have your dinner, sir ? ” 

“ In half an hour. Have you any wines in the house ? ” 

“ Yes, sir ; Sherry, Madeira, Port, Burgundy, Hock, Cham- 
pagne.” • 

“ Put on Port and Champagne.” 

Sam’s departure was followed by the chamber-maid’s appear- 
ance. 

“ Are my rooms all ready, Agnes ? ” 

“Yes, massa. Front room, second story, all ready. Sheets 
fresh and aired. Floor swept dis mornin’. All clean an’ 
sweet, massa.” 

There was something in the forward and assured air of this 
negro woman that was satisfactory to Ratcliff. Some little 
coquetries of dress suggested that she had a weakness through 
■Which she might be won to be his unquestioning ally in any de- 
signs he might adopt. He threw out a compliment on her good 
looks, and this time he found his compliment was not thrown 
away. He gave her money, telling her to buy a new dress 
with it, and promised her a silk shawl if she would be a good 
girl. To all of which she replied with simpers of delight. 

“ Now, Agnes,” said he, “ tell me what you think of the 
little crazy lady up-stairs ? ” 

“ I ’se of ’pinion, sar, dat gal am no more crazy nor I ’m 
crazy.” 

“ I ’m glad to hear you say so, for I intend to make her my 
wife ; and want you to help me all you can in bringing it about.” 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


409 


“ Should n’t tink massa would need no help, wid all his 
money. Wheugh ! What ’s de matter ? Am she offish ? ” 

“ A little obstinate, that ’s all. But she ’ll come round in 
good time. Only you stand by me close, Agnes, and you shall 
have a hundred dollars the day I ’m married.” 

“ I nebber ’fuse a good offer, massa. You may count on dis 
chile, sure ! ” 

“ Now go and send up dinner,” said Ratcliff, confident he 
had secured one confederate who would not stick at trifles. 

The dinner was brought up hot and carefully served. 

“ Curse me but this does credit to old Semmes,” soliloquized 
Ratcliff, as course after course came on. “ The wines, too, are 
not to be impeached. I wonder if his Burgundy is equal to his 
Champagne.” 

Ratcliff pressed his foot on the brass mushroom under the 
table and rang the bell. 

“ A bottle of Burgundy, Sam.” • 

The mulatto brought on a bottle, and drew the cork gently 
and skilfully, so as not to shake the precious contents. 

“ Ah ! this will do,” said Ratcliff ; “ it must be of the famous 
vintage of eighteen hundred and — confound the date ! Sam, 
you sly nigger, try a glass of this.” 

“ Thank you, sir, I never drink.” 

“ Nigger, you lie ! Hand me that goblet.” 

Sam did as he was bid. Ratcliff filled the glass with the 
dark ruby liquid, and said, “ Now toss it off, you rascal. Don’t 
pretend you don’t like it.” 

Sam meekly obeyed, and put down the emptied goblet. Rat- 
cliff skirmished feebly among the bottles a few minutes longer, 
then rose, and made his way unsteadily to the sofa. 

“ Sam, you solemn nigger, what ’s o’clock ? ” said he. 

“ The clock is just striking ten, sir.” 

“Possible? Have I been three — hiccup — hours at the 
table ? Sam, see me up-stairs and put me to bed.” 

Half an hour afterwards Ratcliff lay in the heavy, stertorous 
slumber which wine, more than fatigue, had engendered. 

He was habitually a late sleeper. It wanted but a few 
minutes to eleven o’clock the next morning when Sam started 
to answer his bell. Ratcliff called for soda-water. Sam had 
18 


410 


PECULIAR. 


taken the precaution to put a couple of bottles under his arm, 
foreseeing that it would be needed. 

It took a full hour for Ratcliff to accomplish the duties of his 
toilet. Then he went down to breakfast. And still the one 
thought that pursued him was how best to extort compliance 
from that beautiful maiden up-stairs. 

A brilliant idea occurred to him. He would go and exert 
his powers of fascination. Without importunately urging his 
suit, he would deal out his treasure of small-talk : he would 
read poetry to her ; he would try all the most approved means 
of making love. 

Again he knocked at her door. It was opened by Sister 
Agatha, who at a sign from him withdrew into the adjoining 
room. Clara was busy with her needle. 

“Have you any objection to playing a tune for me?” he 
asked, with the timid air of a Corydon. 

Clara seated herself at the piano and began playing Beetho- 
ven’s Sonatas, commencing with the first. Ratcliff was horri- 
bly bored. After he had listened for what seemed to him an 
intolerable period, he interrupted the performance by saying, 
“ All that is very fine, but I fear it is fatiguing to you.” 

“ Not at all. I can go through the whole book without 
fatigue.” 

“ Don’t think of it ! What have you here ? ‘ Willis’s 

Poems.’ Are you fond of poetry, Miss Murray ? ” 

“ I am fond of poetry ; but my name is not Murray.” 

“ Indeed ! What may it then be ? ” 

“ My name is Berwick. I am no slave, though kidnapped 
and sold as such while an infant. You bought me. But you 
would not lend yourself to a fraud, would you? I must be 
free. You shall be paid with interest for all your outlays in 
my behalf. Is not that fair ? ” 

“ I am too much interested in your welfare, my dear young 
lady, to consent to giving you up. You will find it impossible 
to prove this fanciful story which some unfriendly person has 
put into your head. Even if it were true, you could never 
recover your rights. But it is all chimerical. Don’t indulge 
so illusory a hope. What I offer, on the other hand, is sub- 
stantial, solid, certain. As my wife you would be lifted at 
once to a position second to that of no lady in the land.” 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


411 


Clara inadvertently gave way to a shudder of dislike. Bat- 
cliff noticed it, and rising, drew nearer to her and asked, 
“ Have I ever given you any cause for aversion ? ” 

“ Yes,” she replied, starting up from the music-chair, — “ the 
cause which the master must always give the slave.” 

“ But if I were to remove that objection, could you not like 
me ?” 

“ Impossible ! ” 

“ Have I ever done anything to prevent it ? ” 

“ Yes, much.” 

“ Surely not toward you ; and if not toward you, toward 
whom ? ” 

“ Toward Estelle \ ” said Clara, roused to an intrepid scorn, 
which carried her beyond the bounds at once of prudence and 
of fear. 

Had Ratcliff seen Estelle rise bodily before him, he could 
not have been struck more to the heart with an emotion par- 
taking at once of awe and of rage. The habitually florid hue 
of his cheeks faded to a pale purple. He swung his arms 
awkwardly, as if at a loss what to do with them. He paced 
the floor, wildly, and finally gasping forth, “ Young woman, 
you shall — you shall repent this,” left the room. 

He did not make his appearance in Clara’s parlor again that 
day. It was already late in the afternoon. Dinner was nearly 
ready. The consideration that such serious excitement would 
be bad for his appetite gradually calmed him down ; and by 
the time he was called to the table he had throwA off the 
effects of the shock wdiich a single word had given him. The 
dinner was a repetition of that of the day before, varied by the 
production of new dishes and wines. Sam was evidently doing 
his best as a caterer. Again Ratcliff sat late, and again Sam 
saw him safe up-stairs and helped him to undress. And again 
the slave-lord slept late into the hours of the forenoon. 

After breakfast on the third day of his return he paced the 
back piazza for some two hours, smoking cigars. He had no 
thought but for the one scheme before him. To be baffled in 
that was to lose all. Public affairs sank into insignificance. 
Sam handed him a newspaper, but without glancing at it ‘he 
threw it over the balustrade into the area. “ She ’s but a way- 


412 


PECULIAR. 


ward girl, after all ! I must be patient with her,” thought he, 
one moment. And the next his mood varied, and he muttered 
to himself : “ A slave ! Damnation ! To be treated so by a 
slave, — one I could force to drudge instead of letting her play 
the lady!” 

Suddenly he went up-stairs and paid her a third visit. His 
manner and speech were abrupt. 

“ I wish to deal with you gently and generously,” said he ; 
“ and I beseech you not to compel me to resort to harshness. 
You are legally my slave, whatever fancies you may entertain 
as to your origin or as to a Haw in my title. You can prove 
nothing, or if you could, it would avail you nothing, against 
the power which I can exert in this community. I tell you I 
could this very day, in the mere exercise of my legal rights, 
consign you to the ownership of those who would look upon 
your delicate nurture, your assured manners, and your airs of 
a lady, merely as so many baits enhancing the wages of your 
infamy ; who would subject you to gross companionship with 
the brutal and the merciless ; who would scourge you into 
cotnpliance with any base uses to which they might choose to 
put you. Fair-faced slaves are forced to such things every 
day. Instead of surrendering yourself to liabilities like these, 
you have it in your power to take the honorable position of 
my wife, — a position where you could dispense good to others 
while having every luxury that heart could covet for yourself. 
Now decide, and decide quickly ; for I can no longer endure 
this torturing suspense in which you have kept me. Will you 
accede to my wishes, or will you not ? ” 

“ I will not ! ” said Clara, in a firm and steady tone. 

(i Then remember,” replied Ratcliff, “ it is your own hands 
that have made the foul bed in which you prefer to lie.” 

And with these terrible words he quitted the room. 
Frightened at her own temerity, Clara at once sank upon 
her knees, and called with earnest supplication on the Supreme 
Father for protection. Blending with her own words those 
immortal formulas which the inspired David wrote down for 
the help and refreshing of devout souls throughout all time, 
she exclaimed : “ Thou art my hiding-place and my shield : I 
hope in thy word. Seven times a day do I praise thee because 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


413 


of thy righteous judgments. Wonderfully hast thou led me 
heretofore : forsake me not in this extreme. Save now, I be- 
seech thee, O Lord ; send now prosperity ! Let thine hand 
help me. Deliver my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, 
and my feet from falling. Out of the depth I cry unto thee. O 
Lord, hear my voice, and be attentive unto my supplications.” 

As she remained with head bent and arms crossed upon her 
bosom, motionless as some sculptured saint, she suddenly felt 
the touch of a hand on her head, and started up. It was Sister 
Agatha, who had come to bid her good by. 

“ But you ’re not going to leave me ! ” cried Clara. 

“ Yes ; I ’ve been told to go.” 

“ By whom have you been told to go ? ” 

“ By the gentleman who now takes charge of you, — Mr. 
Ratcliff.” 

“ But he ’s a bad man ! Look at him, study him, and you ’ll 
be convinced.” 

“O no! he has given me fifty dollars to distribute among 
the poor. If you were in your senses, my child, you would 
not call him bad. He is your best earthly friend. You must 
heed all he says. Agnes will remain to wait on you.” 

“ Agnes ? I ’ve no faith in that girl. I fear she is corrupt ; 
that money could tempt her to much that is wrong.” 

“ What fancies ! Poor child ! But this is one of the signs 
of your disease, — this disposition to see enemies in those 
around you. There ! you must let me go. The Lord help 
and cure you ! Farewell ! ” 

Sister Agatha withdrew herself from Clara’s despairing 
grasp and eager pleadings, and, passing into the sleeping-room, 
opened the farther door which led into the billiard-room, of the 
door of which, communicating with the entry, she had the key. 

For the moment Hope seemed to vanish from Clara’s heart 
with the departing form of the Sister ; for, simple as she was, 
she was still a protection against outrage. No shame could 
come while Sister Agatha was present. 

Suddenly the idea occurred to Clara that she had not tested 
all the possibilities of escape. She ran and tried the doors. 
They were all locked. We have seen that she had the range 
of a suite of three large rooms : a front room serving as a 


414 


PECULIAR. 


parlor and connected by a corridor, having closets and doors at 
either end, with the sleeping-room looking out on the garden 
in the rear. This sleeping-room, as you looked from the win- 
dows, communicated with the billiard-room on the left, and had 
one door, also on the left, communicating with the entry on 
which you came from the stairs. This door was locked on the 
outside. The parlor also communicated with this entry or hall 
by a. door on the left, locked on the outside. The house was 
built very much after the style of most modern city houses, so 
that it is not difficult to form a clear idea of Clara’s position. 

Finding the doors were secure against any effort of hers to 
force them, it occurred to her to throw into the street a letter 
containing an appeal for succor to the person who might pick it 
up. She hastily' wrote a few lines describing her situation, the 
room where she was confined, the fraud by which she was held 
a slave, and giving the name of the street, the number of the 
house, &c. This she signed Clara A. Berwick. Then rolling 
it up in a handkerchief with a paper-weight she threw it out of 
the window far into the street. Ah ! It went beyond the oppo- 
site sidewalk, over the fence, and into the tall grass of the 
little ornamented park in front of the house ! 

She could have wept at the disappointment. Should she 
write another letter and try again ? While she was considering 
the matter, she saw a well-dressed lady and gentleman prom- 
enading. She cried out “ Help ! ” But before she could repeat 
the cry a hand was put upon her mouth, and the window was 
shut down. 

“ No, Missis, can’t ’low dat,” said the chuckling voice of 
Agnes. 

Clara took the girl by the hand, made her sit down, and then, 
with all the persuasiveness she could summon, tried to reach her 
better nature, and induce her to aid in her escape. Failing in 
the effort to move the girl’s heart, Clara appealed to her acquisi- 
tiveness, promising a large reward in money for such help as 
she could give. But the girl had been pre-persuaded by Rat- 
cliff that Clara’s promises were not to be relied upon ; and so, 
disbelieving them utterly, she simply shook her head and sim- 
pered. How could Agnes, a slave, presume to disobey a great 
man like Massa Ratcliff ? Besides, he meant the young missis 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


415 


no harm. He only wanted to make her his wife. Why should 
she be so obstinate about it? Agnes couldn’t see the sense 
of it. 

During the rest of the day, Clara felt for the first time that 
her every movement was watched. If she went to the window, 
Agnes was by her side. If she took up a bodkin, Agnes 
seemed ready to spring upon her and snatch it from her hand. 

Terrible reflections brought their gloom. Clara recalled the 
case of a slave-girl which she had heard only the day before 
her last walk with Eslia. It was the case of a girl quite white 
belonging to a Madame Coutreil, residing just below the city. 
This girl, for attempting to run away, had been placed in a filthy 
dungeon, and a thick, heavy iron ring or yoke, surmounted by 
three prongs, fastened about her neck.* If a mistress could do 

* This yoke was on exhibition several months at Williams and Everett’s, 
Washington Street, Boston, it having been sent by Governor Andrew with a 
letter, the original of which we have before us while we write. It bears date 
September 10th, 1863. It says of this yoke (which we have held in our 
hands), that it “ was cut from the neck of a slave girl ” who had worn it “ for 
three weary months. An officer of Massachusetts Volunteers, whose letter I 
enclose to you, sent me this memento,” &c. That officer’s original letter, 
signed S. Tyler Read, Captain Third Massachusetts Cavalry, is also before 
us. He writes to the Governor of Massachusetts, that, having been sent with 
a detachment of troops down the river to search suspected premises on the 
plantation of Madame Coutreil, his attention was attracted by a small house, 
closed tightly, and about nine or ten feet square. “ I demanded,” writes Cap- 
tain Read, “ the keys, and after unlocking double doors found myself in the 
entrance of a dark and loathsome dungeon. 4 In Heaven’s name, what have 
you here?’ I exclaimed to the slave mistress. 4 0, only a little girl, — she 
runned away l ’ I peered into the darkness, and was able to discover, sitting at 
one end of the room upon a low stool, a girl about eighteen years of age. She 
had this iron torture riveted about her neck, where it had rusted through the skin , and 
lay corroding apparently upon the flesh. Her head was bowed upon her hands, 
and she was almost insensible from emaciation and immersion in the foul air 

of her dungeon. She was quite white I had the girl taken to the city, 

•where this torture was removed from her neck by a blacksmith, who cut the 
rivet, and she was subsequently made free by military authority.” 

See in the Atlantic Monthly (July, 1863) a paper entitled “ Our General,” 
from the pen of one who served as Deputy Provost Marshal in New Orleans. 
His facts are corroborated both by General Butler an£ Governor Shepley, 
who took pains to authenticate them. A girl, “ a perfect blonde, her hair of 
a very pretty, light shade of brown, and perfectly straight,” had been pub- 
licly whipped by her master (who was also her father), and then “forced to 
marry a colored man.” We spare our readers the mention of the most loath- 
some fact in the narrative. 

Another case is stated by the same writer. A mulatto girl, the slave of 


416 


PECULIAR. 


such things, what barbarity might not a master like Ratcliff 
attempt ? 


And where was Ratcliff all this while ? # 

Still keeping in the house, brooding on the one scheme on 
which he had set his heart. He smoked cigars, stretched him- 
self on sofas, cursed the perversity of the sex, and theorized as 
to the efficacy of extreme measures in taming certain feminine 
tempers. Was not a woman, after all, something like a horse? 
Had he not seen Rarey tame the most furious mare by a simple 
process which did not involve beating or cruelty? The con- 
sideration was curious, — a matter for philosophy to ruminate. 

Ratcliff dined late that day. It was almost dark enough 
for the gas to be lighted when he sat down to the table. The 
viands were the choicest of the season, but he hardly did them 
justice. All the best wines were on the sideboard. Sam 
filled three glasses with hock, champagne, and burgundy ; but, 
to his surprise and secret disappointment, Ratcliff did not emp- 
ty one of them. “ Mr. Semmes used to praise this Rudesheimer 
very highly,” said Sam, insinuatingly. Ratcliff simply raised 
his hand imperiously with a gesture imposing silence. He 
sipped half a glass of the red wine, then drank a cup of coffee, 
then lit a cigar, and resumed his walk on the piazza. 

It was now nine o’clock in the evening. Without taking off 
any of her clothes, Clara had lain down on the bed. Agnes 
sat sewing at a table near by. The room was brilliantly 
illuminated by two gas-burners. Light also came through 
the corridor from a burner in the parlor. Every few minutes 
the chambermaid would look round searchingly*, as if to see 
whether the young “ missis ” were asleep. Li order to learn 
what effect it would have, Clara shut her eyes and breathed as 

one Landry, was brought to General Butler. She had been brutally gcourged 
by her master. He confessed to the castigation, but pleaded that she had 
tried to get her freedom. The poor girl’s back had been flayed until the 
quivering flesh resembled a fresh beefsteak scorched on a gridiron.” It was 
declared by influential citizens, who interceded for him, that Landry was (we 
quote the recorded words) ‘‘ not only a high-toned gentleman , but a person of 
unusual amiability of character.” General Butler freed the girl, and com- 
pelled the high-toned Landry to pay over to her the sum of five hundred 
^llars. 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


417 


if lost in slumber. Agnes put down her work, moved stealth- 
ily to the bed, and gently felt around the maiden’s waist ancj, 
bosom, as if to satisfy herself there was no weapon concealed 
about her person. 

While the negro woman was thus engaged, there was a sound 
as if a key had dropped on the billiard-room floor, which was 
of oak and uncarpeted. Agnes stopped and listened as if puz- 
zled. There was then a sound as if the outer door of the 
billiard-room communicating with the entry were unlocked and 
opened. Agnes went up to the mantel-piece and looked at the 
clock, and then listened again intently. 

There was now a low knock from the billiard-room at the 
chamber-door, which was locked on the inside, and the key of 
which was left in while Agnes was present, but which she was 
accustomed to take out and leave on the billiard-room side 
when she quitted the apartments to go down-stairs. 

Before unlocking the door on this occasion she asked in a 
whisper, “ Who ’s dar ? ” 

The reply came, “ Sam.” 

“ What ’s de matter ? ” 

“ I want to speak with you a minute. Open the door.” 

“ Can’t do it, Sam. It ’s agin orders.” 

“ Well, no matter. I only thought you ’d like to tell me 
what sort of a shawl to get.” 

“ What ? — what ’s tfat you say ’bout a shawl ? ” 

“ The Massa has given me ten dollars to buy a silk shawl for 
you. What color do you want ? ” 

Clara heard every word of this little dialogue. It was fol- 
lowed by the chambermaid’s unlocking the door, taking out the 
key and entering the billiard-room. Clara started from the 
bed, and went and listened. The only words she could distin- 
guish were, “ I ’ll jes run up-stairs an’ git a pattern fur yer.” 
Clara tried the door, but found it locked. She listened yet 
more intently. There was no further sound. She waited five 
minutes, then went back to the bed and sat down. 

A sense of something incommunicable and mysterious weigh- 
ed upon her brain and agitated her thoughts. It was as if she 
were enclosed by an atmosphere impenetrable to intelligences 
that were trying to reach her brain. For a week she had seen 
18 * aa 


418 


PECULIAR. 


no newspaper. What had happened during that time ? Great 
events were impending. What shape had they taken ? The 
terror of the Vague and the Unknown dilated her eyes and 
thrilled her heart. 

As she sat there breathless, she heard through the window, 
open at the top, the distant beat of music. The tune was dis- 
tinguishable rather by the vibrations of the air than by audible 
notes. But it seemed to Clara as if a full band were playing 
the Star-Spangled Banner. What could it mean? Nothing. 
The tune was claimed both by Rebels and Loyalists. 

Hark ! It had changed. What was it now ? Surely that 
must be the air of “ Hail Columbia.” Never before, since the 
breaking out of the Rebellion, had she heard that tune. As 
the wind now and then capriciously favored the music, it came 
more distinct to her ears. There could be no mistake. 

And now the motion of the sounds was brisk, rapid, and lively. 
Could it be ? Yes ! These rash serenaders, whoever they were, 
had actually ventured to play “ Yankee Doodle.” Was it possi- 
ble the authorities allowed such outrages on Rebel sensibilities ? 

And now the sounds ceased, but only for a moment. A 
slower, a grand and majestic strain, succeeded. It arrested her 
closest attention. What was it ? What ? She had heard it 
before, but where ? When ? What association, strange yet 
tender, did it have for her ? Why did it thrill and rouse her 
as none of the other tunes had done ? Suddenly she remem- 
bered it was that fearful “John Brown Hallelujah Chorus,” 
which Vance had played and sung for her the first evening of 
their acquaintance. 

The music ceased ; and she listened vainly for its renewal. 
All at once a harsh sound, that chilled her heart, and seemed to 
concentrate all her senses in onp, smote on her ears. The key 
of the parlor door was slowly turned. There was a step, and 
it seemed to be the step of a man. 

Clara started up and pressed both hands on her bosom, to 
keep down the flutterings of her heart, which beat till a sense 
of suffocation came over her. 

The awe and suspense of that moment seemed to protract it 
into a whole hour of suffering. “ God help me ! ” was all she 
could murmur. Her terror grew insupportable. The steps 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


419 


came over the carpet, — they fell on the tessellated marble of 
the little closet-passage, — they drew near the half-open door 
which now alone intervened. 

Then there was a knock on the wood-work. She wanted to 
say, “ Who ’s there ? ” but her tongue refused its office. The 
strength seemed ebbing from every limb. Horror at the 
thought of her helplessness came over her. Then a form — 
the form of a man — stood before her. She uttered one cry, 
— a simple “ Oh ! ” — and sinking at his feet, put her arms 
about his knees and pressed against them her head. 

There are times when a brief, hardly articulate utterance, — 
a simple intonation, — seems to carry in it whole volumes of 
meaning. That single Oh / — how much of heart-history it 
conveyed ! In its expression of transition from mortal terror 
to entire trustfulness *and delight, it was almost childlike. It 
spoke of unexpected relief, — of a joyful surprise, — of a grati- 
tude without bounds, — of an awful sense of angelic guardian- 
ship, — of an inward faith vindicated and fulfilled against a tu- 
multuous crowd of selfish external fears and misgivings. 

The man whose appearance had called forth this intensified 
utterance wore the military cap and insignia of a Colonel in 
the United States service. His figure seemed made for endur- 
ance, though remarkable for neatness and symmetry. His face 
was that of one past the middle stage, — one to whom life had 
not been one unvaried holiday. The cheeks were bronzed ; the 
eyes mobile and penetrating, the mouth singularly sweet and 
firm. Clara knew the face. It was that of Vance. 

He lifted her flaccid form from the posture in which she had 
thrown herself, — lifted and supported it against his breast as 
if to give her the full assurance of safety and protection. She 
opened her eyes upon him as thus they stood, — eyes now 
beaming with reverential gratitude and transport. He looked 
at them closely. 

“ Yes,” said he, “ there they are ! the blue and the gray ! 
Why did I not notice them before ? ” 

“ Ah ! ” she cried. “ Here is my dream fulfilled. You have 
at last taken from them that letter which lay there.” 

There was the sound of footsteps on the landing in the upper 
hall. Clara instinctively threw an arm over Vance’s shoul- 


420 


PECULIAR. 


der. The key of the chamber-door was turned, and Ratcliff 
entered. 

He had been pacing the piazza and smoking uncounted 
cigars. The distant music, which to Clara’s aroused senses 
had been so audible, had not been heard by him. He had not 
dreamed of any interruption of his plans. Was he not dealing 
with a slave in a house occupied by slaves ? What possible 
service was there he could not claim of a slave? Were not 
slaves made every day to scourge slaves, even their own wives 
and children, till the backs of the sufferers were seamed and 
bloody ? Besides, he had fortified the fidelity of one of them — 
of Agnes — by presents and by flatteries. Even the revolver 
he usually carried with him was laid aside in one of the drawers 
of his dressing-room as not likely to be wanted. 

On entering the chamber, Ratcliff, before perceiving that 
there was an unexpected oecupant, turned and relocked the 
door on the inside. 

Was it some vision, the product of an incantation, that now 
rose before his eyes ? For there stood the maiden on whose 
compliance he had so wreaked all the energy of his tyrannical 
will, — his own purchased slave and thrall, — creature bound 
to serve either his brute desires or his most menial exactions, 
— there she stood, in the attitude of entire trust and affection, 
folded in the arms of a man ! 

Instantly Ratcliff reflected that he was unarmed, and he 
turned and unlocked the door to rush down-stairs after his 
revolver. But Yance was too swift for him. Placing Clara 
in a chair, quick as the tiger-cat springs on his prey, he darted 
upon Ratcliff, and before the latter could pass out on to the 
landing, relocked the door and took the key. Then dragging 
him into the middle of the room, he held him by a terrible grip 
on the shoulders at arm’s length, face to face. 

“ Now look at me well,” said Yance. “ You have seen me 
before. Do you recognize me now ? ” 

Wild with a rage to which all other experiences of wrath 
were as a zephyr to a tornado, Ratcliff yet had the curiosity to 
look, and that look brought in a new emotion which made even 
his wrath subordinate. . For the first time in more than twenty 
years he recognized the man who had once offended him at 


HOPES AND FEAPS. 


421 


the theatre, — who had once knocked him down on board a 
steamboat in the eyes of neighbors and vassals, — who had 
robbed him of one beautiful slave girl, and was now robbing 
him of another. Yes, it never once occurred to Ratcliff that 
he, a South Carolinian, a man born to command, was not the 
aggrieved and injured party ! 

Vance stood with a look like that of St. George spearing the 
dragon. The past, with all its horrors, surged up on his recol- 
lection. He thought of that day of Estelle’s abduction, — of 
the escape and recapture, — of that scene at the whipping-post, 
— of the celestial smile she bent on him through her agony, — 
of the scourging he himself underwent, the scars of which he 
yet bore, — of those dreadful hours when he clung to the loos- 
ened raft in the river, — of the death-scene, the euthanasia of 
Estelle, of his own despair and madness. 

And here, before him, within his grasp, was the author of 
all these barbarities and indignities ! Here was the man who 
had ordered and superintended the scourging of one in whom 
all the goodness and grace that ever made womanhood lovely 
and adorable had met ! -Here was the haughty scoundrel who 
had thought to bind her in marriage with one of his own 
slaves ! Here was the insolent ruffian ! Here the dastard 
murderer ! What punishment could be equal to his crimes ? 
Death ? His life so worthless for hers so precious beyond all 
reckoning ? Oh ! that would go but a small way toward paying 
the enormous # debt ! 

Vance carried in a secret pocket a pistol, and wore a small 
sword at his side. This last weapon Ratcliff tried to grasp, 
but failed. Vance looked inquiringly about the room. Rat- 
cliff felt his danger, and struggled with the energy of despair. 
Vance, with the easy knack of an adroit wrestler, threw him 
on the floor, then dragging him toward the closet, pulled from 
a nail a thick leather strap which hung there, having been 
detached from a trunk. Then hurling Ratcliff into the middle 
of the room, he collared him before he could rise, and brought 
down the blows, sharp, quick, vigorous, on face, back, shoul- 
ders, till a shriek of “ murder ” was wrung from the proud lips 
of the humbled adversary. 

Suddenly, in the midst of these inflictions, Vance felt his 


422 


PECULIAR. 


arm arrested by a firm grasp. He disengaged himself with a 
start that was feline in its instant evasiveness, turned, and be- 
fore him stood Peek, interposing between him and the prostrate 
Ratcliff. 

“ Stand aside, Peek,” said Vance ; “ I have hardly begun 
yet. You are the last man to intercede for this wretch.” 

“ Not one more blow, Mr. Vance.” 

“ Stand aside, I say ! Come not between me and my mortal 
foe. Have I not for long years looked forward to this hour ? 
Have I not toiled for it, dreamed of it, hungered for it ? ” 

“ No, Mr. Vance, I ’If not think so poorly of you as to believe 
you ’ve done any such thing. It was to right a great wrong 
that you -have toiled, — not to wreak a poor revenge on flesh 
and blood.” 

“ No preaching, Peek ! Stand out of the way ! I ’d sooner 
forego my hope of heaven than be balked now. Away ! ” 

“ Have I ever done that which entitles me to ask a favor of 
you, Mr. Vance ?” 

“ Yes ; for that reason I will requite the scars you yourself 
bear. The scourger shall be scourged.” 

“ Would you not do her bidding, could you hear it ; and can 
you doubt that she would say, Forgive ? ” 

Vance recoiled for a moment, then replied : “ You have used 
the last appeal ; but ’t will not serve. My wrongs I can for- 
give. Tout's I can forgive. But hers, never ! Once more I 
say, Stand aside ! ” 

“ You shall not give him another blow,” said Peek. 

« Shall not?” 

And before he could offer any resistance Peek had been 
thrown to the other side of the room so as to fall backward on 
his hands. 

Then, in a moment, Vance seemed to regret the act. He 
jumped forward, helped the negro up, begged his pardon, say- 
ing: “Forgive me, my dear, # dear Peek! Have your own 
way. Do with this man as you like. Have n’t you the right ? 
Did n’t you once save my life ? Are you hurt ? Do you for- 
give me ? ” And the tears sprang to Vance’s eyes. 

“ No harm done, Mr. Vance ! But you are quick as light- 
ning.” 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


423 


“ Look at me, Peek. Let me see from your face that I ’m 
forgiven.” 

And Peek turned on him such an expression, at once tender 
and benignant, that Vance, seeing they understood each other, 
was reassured. 

Clara had sat all this time intently watching every move- 
ment, but too weak from agitation to interfere, even if she had 
been so disposed. 

Ratcliff, recovering from the confusion of brain produced by 
the rapid blows he had endured, looked to see to whom he had 
been indebted for help. In all the whims of Fate, could it be 
there was one like this in reserve ? Yes ! that negro was the 
same he, Ratcliff, had once caused to be scourged till three 
men were wearied out in the labor of lashing. The fellow’s 
back must be all furrowed and criss-crossed with the marks got 
from him, Ratcliff. Yet here was the nigger, coming to the 
succor of his old master ! The instinct of servility was stronger 
in him even than revenge. Who would deny, after this, what 
he, Ratcliff, had often asserted, “ Niggers will be niggers ? ” 

And so, instead of recognizing a godlike generosity in the 
act, the slave-driver saw in it only the habit of a base spirit, 
and the wholesome effect, upon an inferior, of that imposing 
quality in his, Ratcliff’s, own nature and bearing, which showed 
he was of the master race, and justified all his assumptions. 


Watching his opportunity Ratcliff crawled toward the bil- 
liard-room door, and, suddenly starting up, pulled it open, 
thinking to escape. To his dismay he encountered a large 
black dog of the bloodhound species, who growled and showed 
his teeth so viciously that Ratcliff sprang back. Following 
the dog appeared a* young soldier, who, casting round his eyes, 
saw Clara, and darting to her side, seized and warmly pressed 
her extended hand. Overcome with amazement, Ratcliff reeled 
backward and sank into an arm-chair, for in the soldier he rec- 
ognized Captain Onslow. 

Voices were now heard on the stairs, and two men appeared. 
One of them was of a compact, well-built figure, and apparently 
about fifty years old. He was clad % a military dress, and his 


424 


PECULIAR. 


aspect spoke courage and decision. The individual at his side, 
and who seemed to be paying court to him, was a tall, gaunt 
figure, in the coarse uniform of the prison. He carried his 
cap in his hand, showing that half of his head was entirely 
bald, while the other half was covered with a matted mass of 
reddish-gray hair. 

This last man, as he mounted the stairs and stood on the 
landing, might have been heard to say : “ Kunnle Blake, you ’re 
a high-tone gemmleman, ef you air a Yankee. You see in 
me, Kunnle/ a victim of the damdest ongratitood. These 
Noo-Orleenz ’ristocrats couldn’t huv treated a nigger or an 
abolitioner wuss nor they’ve treated me. I told ’em I wuz 
Virginia-born ; told ’em what I ’d done fur thar damned Con- 
fed’racy ; told ’em what a blasted good friend I ’d been to the 
institootion ; but — will you believe it ? — they tuk me up on 
a low charge of ’propriatin’ to private use the money they giv 
me ter raise a company with ; — they hahd me up afore a 
committee of close-fisted old fogies, an’ may I be shot ef they 
did n’t order me to be jugged, an’ half of my head to be 
shaved ! An’ ’t was did. Damned ef it warnt ! But I ’ll 
be even with ’em, damn ’em ! Ef I don’t, may I be kept ter 
work in a rice-swamp the rest of my days. I ’ll let ’em see 
what it is to treat one of the Hyde blood in this ’ere way, as 
if he war a low-lived corn-cracker. I ’ll let ’em see what thar 
rotten institootion ’s wuth. Ef they kn afford ter make out of 
a born gemmleman a scarecrow like I am now, with my half- 
shaved scalp, jes fur ’propriatin’ a few of thar damned rags, 
well and good. They ’ll hahv ter look round lively afore they 
kn find sich another friend as Delancey Hyde has been ter 
King Cotton, — damn him ! They shall find Delaney Hyde 
kn unmake as well as make.” 

To these wrathful words, Blake replied : ‘‘"Perhaps you don’t 
remember me, Colonel Hyde.” 

“ Cuss me ef I do. Ef ever I seed you afore, ’t was so long 
ago that it ’s clean gone out of my head.” 

“ Don’t you remember the policeman who made you give up 
the fugitive slave, Peek, that day in the lawyer’s office in New 
York ? ” 

“ I don’t remember nobo<fp else ! ” exclaimed Hyde, jubilant 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


425 


at the thought of claiming one respectable man as an old ac- 
quaintance, and quite forgetting the fact that they had parted 
as foes. “ Kunnle Blake, we must liquor together the fust 
chance we kn git. As for Peek, I don’t want to see a higher- 
toned gemmleman than Peek is, though he is blacker than my 
boot. Will you believe it, Kunnle ? ' That ar nigger, findin’ 
as how I wuz out of money, arter Kunnle Vance had tuk me 
out of jail, what does he do but give me twenty dollars ! In 
good greenbacks, too ! None of your sham Confed’rate trash ! 
Ef that ain’t bein’ a high-tone gemmleman, what is ? lie done 
it too in the most-er delicate manner, — off-hand, like a born 
prince.” 

By this time the interlocutors had entered the billiard-room. 
After -them came a colored man and a negro. One of these 
was Sam, the house-servant, the other Antoine, the owner of 
the dog. Immediately after them came Esha and Madame 
Josephine. They passed Ratcliff without noticing him, and 
went to Clara, and almost devoured her with their kisses. 

No sooner had these two moved away in this terrible proces- 
sion than an oldish lady, hanging coquettishly on the arm of a 
m an somewhat younger than herself, of a rather red face, and 
highly dressed, entered the room, and, apparently too much ab- 
sorbed in each other to notice Ratcliff, walked on until the lady, 
encountering Clara, rushed at her hysterically, and shrieking, 
“ My own precious child ! ” fell into her arms in the most ap- 
proved melodramatic style. This lady was Mrs. Gentry, who 
had recently retired from school-keeping with “ something hand- 
some,” which the Vigilance Committee had been trying to get 
hold of for Confederate wants, but which 'she had managed to 
withhold from their grasp, until that “ blessed Butler ” coming, 
relieved her fears, and secured her in her own.. The gentle- 
man attending her was Mr. Ripper, ex-auctioneer, who, in his 
mellow days, finding that JordaiLwas a hard road to travel, had 
concluded to sign the temperance pledge, reform, and take care 
of himself. With this view, what could he do better than find 
some staid, respectable woman, with “ a little some tiling of her 
own,” with whom he could join hands on the downhill of life ? 
As luck would have it, he was introduced to Mrs. Gentry that 
very evening, and he was now paying his first devoirs. 


426 


PECULIAE. 


After the appearance of this couple, steps heavy and slow 
were heard ascending the stairs into the billiard-room ; and the 
next moment Mr. Winslow appeared, followed by Lawyer 
Semmes. And, bringing up the rear of the party, and pre- 
senting in himself a fitting climax to these stunning surprises, 
came a large and powerful negro in military rig, bearing a 
musket with bayonet fixed, and displaying a small United 
States flag. This man was Decazes, an escaped slave belong- 
ing to Ratcliff, and for whom he had offered a reward of five 
hundred dollars. 

Ratcliff had half-risen from his chair, holding on to the arms 
with both hands for support. His countenance, laced by the 
leathern blows he had received, his left eye blue and swollen, 
every feature distorted with consternation, rage, and astonish- 
ment, he presented such a picture of baffled tyranny as photog- 
raphy alone could do justice to. Was it delirium, — was it some 
harrowing dream, — under which he was suffering ? That flag ! 
What did it mean ? 

“ Semmes ! ” he exclaimed, “ what has happened ? Where 
do these Yankees come from ? ” 

“ Possible ? Have n’t you heard the news ? ” returned the 
lawyer. “Farragut and Butler have possession of New 
Orleans. What have you been doing with yourself the last 
three days ? ” 

“ Butler ? ” exclaimed Ratcliff, astounded and incredulous, — 
“ Picayune Butler ? — the contemptible swell-head, — the petti- 
fogging— ” 

Semmes walked away, as if choosing not to be implicated in 
any treasonable talk. 

Suddenly recognizing Winslow, Ratcliff impotently shook his 
fists and darted at him an expression of malignant and vindic- 
tive hate. 

Could it be ? New Orleans in the hands of the Vandals, — 
the “ miserable miscreants,” — the “ hyenas,” as President Da- 
vis and Robert Toombs were wont to stigmatize the whole peo- 
ple of the North ? Where was the great ram that was to work 
such wonders ? Where were the Confederate gunboats ? Were 
not Forts Jackson and St. Philip impregnable ? Could not the 
Chalamette batteries sink any Yankee fleet that floated ? Had 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


427 


not the fire-eaters, — the last-ditch men, — resolved that New 
Orleans should be laid in ashes before the detested flag, em- 
blematic of Yankee rule, should wave from the public build- 
ings ? And here was a black rascal in uniform, flaunting that 
flag in the very face of one of the foremost of the chivalry ! 
Let the universe slide after this ! Let chaos return ! 

The company drifted in groups of two and three through the 
suite of rooms. Sam disappeared suddenly. The women were 
in the front room. Ratcliff, supposing that he was unnoticed, 
rose to escape. But Victor the hound, was on hand. He had 
been lying partly under the bed, with his muzzle out and rest- 
ing on his fore paws, affecting to be asleep, but really watching 
the man whom his subtle instincts had told him was the game 
for which he was responsible ; and now the beast darted up 
with an imperious bark, and Ratcliff, furious, but helpless, sank 
back on his seat. 

Colonel Delaney Hyde approached, with the view of making 
himself agreeable. 

“ Squire Ratcliff,” said he, “ you seem to be in a dam bad 
way. Kin I do anything fur yer? Any niggers you want 
kotched, Squire? Niggers is mighty onsartin property jes 
now, Squire. Gen’ral Butler swars he ’ll have a black regi- 
ment all uniformed afore the Fourth of July comes round. 
Would n’t give much fer yer Red River gangs jes now, 
Squire ! Reckon they ’ll be findin’ thar way to Gen’ral But- 
ler’s head-quarters, sure.” 

Ratcliff cowered and groaned in spirit as he thought of the 
immense sums which, in his confidence in the success of the 
Rebellion, he had been investing in slaves. Unless he could 
run his gangs off to Texas, he would be ruined. 

“ Look at me, Squire,” continued the Colonel ; “I’m Kunnle 
Delaney Hyde, — Virginia born, be Gawd ; but, fur all that, I 
might jest as well been born in hell, fur any gratitude you 
cust ’ristocrats would show me. Yes, you ’re one on ’em. 
Here I ’ve been drudgin’ the last thirty years in the nigger- 
ketchin’ business, and see my reward, — a half-shaved scalp, 
an’ be damned to yer ! But my time ’s cornin’. Now Kunnle 
Delaney Hyde tries a new tack. Instead of ketchin’ niggers, 
he ’s goin’ to free ’em ; and whar he kotched one he ’ll free a 


428 


PECULIAR. 


thousand. Lou’siana ’s bound to be a free State. All Cotton- 
dom ’s bound to be free. Uncle Sam shall have black regi- 
ments afore Sumter soon. Only the freedom of every nigger 
in the land kn wipe out the wrongs of Delaney Hyde, — kn 
avenge his half-shaved scalp!” 

Here the appearance of Sam, the house-servant, with a large 
salver containing a pitcher, a sugar-bowl, a decanter, tumblers, 
and several bottles, put a stop to the Colonel’s eloquence, and 
drew him away as the loadstone draws the needle. 

Onslow came near to Ratcliff, looked him in the face con- 
temptuously, and turned away without acknowledging the 
acquaintance. After him reappeared Ripper and Mrs. Gen- 
try, arm-in-arm, the lady with her hands clasped girlishly, and 
her shoulder pressed closely up against that of the auctioneer. 
It was evident she was going, going, if not already gone. 
Ripper put up his eye-glass, and, carelessly nodding, remarked, 
“Such is life, Ratcliff!” (Ratcliff! The beggar presumed to 
call him Ratcliff!) The couple passed on, the lady exclaim- 
ing so that the observation should not be lost on the ears for 
which it was intended, — “I always said he would be come up 
with ! ” 

Semmes now happening to pass by, Ratcliff, deeply agitated, 
but affecting equanimity, said : “ How is it, Semmes ? Are 
you going to help me out of this miserable scrape?” 

“ Our relations must end here, Mr. Ratcliff,” replied the 
lawyer. 

“So much the better,” said Ratcliff; “it will spare my 
standing the swindle you call professional charges on your 
books.” 

“ Don’t be under a misapprehension, my poor friend,” re- 
turned Semmes. “ I have laid an attachment on your deposits 
in the Lafayette Bank. They mil just satisfy my claim.” 

And taking a . pinch of snuff the lawyer walked unconcern- 
edly away. “ 0 that I had my revolver here ! ” thought Rat- 
cliff, with an inward groan. 

But here w r as Madame Josephine. Here was at least one 
friend left to him. Of her attachment, under any change of 
fortune, he felt assured. Her own means, not insignificant, 
might now suffice for the rehabilitation of his affairs. She 


HOPES AND FEARS. 


429 


drew near, her face radiant with the satisfaction she had felt in 
the recovery of Clara. She drew near, and Ratcliff caught 
her eye, and rising and putting out his hands, as if for an 
embrace, murmured, in a confidential whisper, “Josephine, 
dearest, come to me ! ” 

She frowned indignantly, threw back her arm with one 
scornfuf and repelling sweep, and simply ejaculating, “No 
more ! ” moved away from him, and took the proffered arm of 
the trustee of her funds, the venerable Winslow. 

The party now passed away from Ratcliff, and out of the 
two rooms ; most of them going down-stairs to the carriages 
that waited in the street to bear them to the St. Charles Hotel, 
over whose cupola the Stars and Stripes were gloriously flut- 
tering in the starlight. 

Ratcliff found himself alone with the ever-watchful blood- 
hound. Suddenly a whistle was heard, and Victor started up 
and trotted down-stairs. Ratcliff rose to quit the apartment. 
All at once the stalwart negro, lately his slave, in uniform, and 
bearing a musket, with the old flag, stood before him. 

“ Follow me,” said the man, with the dignity of a true sol- 
dier. 

“ Where to ? ” 

“ To the lock-up, to wait General Butler’s orders.” 

On a pallet of straw that night Ratcliff had an opportunity 
of revolving in solitude the events of the day. In the miscar- 
riage of his schemes, in the downfall of his hopes, and in the 
humbling of his pride, he experienced a hell worse than the 
imagination of the theologian ever conceived. What pangs 
can equal those of the merciless tyrant when he tumbles into 
the place of his victims and has to endure, in unstinted meas- 
ure, the stripes and indignities he has been wont to inflict so 
unsparingly on others! 


430 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

HOW IT WAS DONE. 

• 

“ From Thee is all that soothes the life of man, 

His high endeavor and his glad success, 

His strength to suffer and his will to serve : 

But 0, thou bounteous Giver of all good, 

Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown ! 

Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor, 

And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away ! ” — Cowper. 

A LL the efforts of Peculiar to induce the bloodhound, 
Victor, to take the scent of either of the gloves, had 
proved unavailing. At every trial Victor persisted in going 
straight to the jail where his master, Antoine, was confined. 
Peek began to despair of discovering any trace of the ab- 
ducted maiden. 

Were dumb animals ever guided by spirit influence ? There 
were many curious facts showing that birds were sometimes 
used to convey impressions, apparently from higher intelligen- 
ces. At sea, not long ago, a bird had flown repeatedly in the 
helmsman’s face, till the latter was induced to change his course. 
The consequence was, his encounter with a ship’s crew in a 
boat, who must have perished that night in the storm, had they 
not been picked up. There were also instances in which dogs 
would seem to have been the mere instruments of a super 
human and supercanine sagacity. But Victor plainly was not 
thus impressible. His instincts led him to his master, but be- 
yond that point they would not or could not be made to exert 
themselves. 

Had not Peek’s faith in the triumph of the right been large, 
he would have despaired of any help from the coming of the 
United States forces. For weeks the newspapers had teemed 
with paragraphs, some scientific and some rhetorical, shewing 
that New Orleans must not and could not be taken. . They alL 
overflowed with bitterness toward the always “ cowardly and 
base-born” Yankees. The Mayor of the city wrote, in the 


HOW IT WAS DONE. 


431 


true magniloquent and grandiose style affected by the Rebel 
leaders : “ As for hoisting any flag not of 'our own adoption, 
the man lives not in our midst whose hand and heart would not 
be paralyzed at the mere thought of such an act 1 ” 

A well-known physician, who had simply expressed the opin- 
ion that possibly the city might have to surrender, had been 
waited on by a Vigilance Committee and warned. Taking the 
hint, the man of rhubarb forthwith handed over a contribution 
of five hundred dollars, in expiation of his offence. 

All at once the confident heart of Rebeldom was stunned by 
the news that two of the Yankee steamers had passed Forts 
Jackson and St. Philip. The great ram had been powerless to 
prevent it. Then followed the announcement that Seven, — 
then thirteen, — then twenty, — then the whole of Farragut’s 
fleet, excepting the Varuna, were coming. Yes, the Hartford 
and the Brooklyn and the Mississippi and the Pensacola and 
the Richmond, &nd the Lord knew how many more, were on 
their way up the great river. They would soon be at Eng- 
lish Bend ; nay, they would soon be at the Levee, and have the 
haughty city entirely at their mercy ! 

No sooner was the terrible news confirmed than the Rebel 
authorities ordered the destruction of all the cotton-bales stored 
on the Levee. The rage, the bitterness, the anguish of the pro- 
slavery chiefs was indescribable. Several attempts were made 
to fire the city, and they would probably have succeeded, but 
for a timely fall of rain. On the landing of the United States 
forces, the frenzy of the Secessionists passed all bounds; and 
one poor fellow, a physician, was hung by them for simply tell- 
ing a United 4 States officer where to find the British Consulate. 

But if some hearts were sick and crushed at the spectacle, 
there were many thousands in that great metropolis to whom 
the sight of the old flag carried a joy and exultation transcend- 
ing the power of words to express ; and one of these hearts 
beat under the black skin of Peek. Followed by Victor; he 
ran to the Levee where United States troops were landing, and 
there — O joy unspeakable ! — standing on the upper deck of 
one of the smaller steamers, and almost one of the first persons 
he saw, was Mr. Vance. 

Peek shouted his name, and Vance, leaping on shore, threw 


432 


PECULIAR. 


his arms impulsively round the brawny negro, and pressed him 
to his breast. Brief the time for explanations. In a few 
clear words, Peek made Vance comprehend the precise state of 
affairs, and in five minutes the latter, at the head of a couple of 
hundred soldiers, and with Peek walking at his side, was on 
his way to the jail. Victor, the bloodhound, evidently under- 
stood it all. He saw, at length, that he was going to carry his 
point. 

Arrived at the jail, a large, square, whitewashed building, 
with barred windows, they encountered at the outer door three 
men smoking cigars. The foremost of them, a stern-looking, 
middle-aged man, with fierce, red whiskers, and who was in his 
shirt-sleeves, came forward, evidently boiling over with a wrath 
he was vainly trying to conceal, and asked what was wanted. 

“There is a black man, Antoine Lafour, confined here. 
Produce him at once.” 

“ But, sir,” said the deputy, “ this is altogether against civil- 
ized usage. This is a place for — ” 

“I can’t stop to parley with you. Produce the man in- 
stantly.” 

“ I shall do no such thing.” 

Vance turned to an orderly, and said, “Arrest this man.” 
At once the deputy was seized on either side by two soldiers./s 
“ Now, sir,” said Vance, cocking' his pistol and taking out his 
watch, “ Produce Antoine Lafour in five minutes, or I will 
shoot you dead.” 

The bloodhound, who nsdjbeen scenting with curious nose 
the man’s person, now seconded the menace by a savage growl, 
which seemed to have more effect even than the pistol, for the 
deputy, turning to one of the men in attendance, said sulkily, 

“ Bring out the nigger, and be quick about it.” 

In three minutes Antoine appeared, and the dog leaped bodily 
into his arms, the negro talking to. him much as he would to 
a hpman being. “ I knowed you ’d do it, ole feller ! Thar ! 
Down ! Down, I say, ole* Vic ! It takes you, — don’t it ? 
Down ! Behave yourself afore folk. Why, Peek, is this 
you ? ” 

“ Yes, Antoine, and this is Mr. Vance, and here ’s the old 
flag, and you ’re no longer a slave.” 


HOW IT WAS DONE. 


433 


“ What ? I no longer a — No ! Say them words agin, 
Peek ! Free ? Owner of my own flesh an’ blood ? Dis arm 
mine ? Dis head mine ? Bress de Lord, Peek ! Bress him 
for all his mercies ! Amen ! Hallelujah ! ” 

The released negro could not forego a few wild antics ex- 
pressive of his rapture. Peek checked him, and bade him 
remember the company he was in ; and Antoine bowed to 
Vance and said: “’Scuze me, Kunnle. I don’t perfess to be 
sich a high-tone gemmleman as Peek here, but — ” % 

“ Stop !” cried Peek ; “ where did you get those last words ? ” 

“ What words ? ” asked Antoine, showing the whites of his 
eyes with an expression of concern at Peek’s suddenly serious 
manner. 

“ Those words, — f high-tone gemmleman.’ Whom did you 
ever hear use them ? ” 

“ Yah, yah ! Wall, Peek, those words I got from Kunnle 
Delaney Hyde.” 

“ Where, — where and when did you get them ? ” 

“ Bress yer, Peek, jes now, — not two minutes ago, — dar in 
the gallery whar the Kunnle’s walkin’ up and down.” 

Peek smiled significantly at Vance, and the latter, approach- 
ing the deputy who had not yet been released from custody, 
remarked : “ You have a man named Hyde confined there.” 

“ Yes, Delaney Hyde. The scoundrel stole the funds given 
to liim to pay recruiting expenses.” 

“ For which I desire to thank him. Bring him out.” 

“ But, sir, you would n’t — ” 

“ Five minutes, Mr. Deputy, I give you, a second time, in 
which to obey my orders. If Mr. Delaney Hyde is n’t forth- 
coming before this second-hand goes round five times, one of 
your friends here shall have the opportunity of succeeding you 
in office, and you shall be deposited where the wicked cease 
from troubling.” 

The deputy was far from being agreeably struck at the pros 
pect of quitting the company of the wicked. But for them his 
vocation would be wanting. And so he nodded to a subordi- 
nate, and in three minutes out stalked the astonishing figure 
of Colonel Delaney Hyde, wearing a dirty woollen Scotch cap, 
and attired in the coarsest costume of the jail. 

19 bb 


434 


PECULIAR. 


Ignorant of the great event of the day, not perceiving the 
old flag, and supposing that he had been called out to be shot, 
Hyde walked up to Vance, and said : “ Kunnle, you look like 
a high-tone gemmleman, and afore I ’m shot I want ter make a 
confidential request.” 

“ Well, sir, what is it ? ” said Vance, shading his face with 
his cap so as not to be recognized. “ Speak quick. I can’t 
spare you three minutes.” 

“ Wall, Kunnle, it ’s jes this : I ’ve a sister, yer see, in Ala- 
bamy, jest out of Montgomery ; her name ’s Dorothy Rusk. 
She ’s a widder with six childern ; one on ’em an idiot, one a 
cripple, and the eldest gal in a consumption. Dorothy has had 
a cruel hard time on it, as you may reckon, an’ I ’ve ollerz 
paid her rent and a leetle over till this cussed war broke out, 
since when I ’ve been so hard up I ’ve had ter scratch gravel 
thunderin’ lively to git my own grub. Them Confed’rate rags 
that I ’propriated, I meant to send to Dorothy ; but the fogies, 
they war too quick for me. Wall, ter come ter the pint: I 
want you ter write a letter ter Dorothy, jes tellin’ her that the 
reason why Delaney can’t remit is that Delaney has been shot ; 
and tellin’ her he sent his love and all that — whar you can’t 
come it too strong, Kunnle, for yer see Dorothy an’ I, we was 
’bout the same age, and used ter make mud-pies together, &nd 
sail our boats together down thar in the old duck-pond, when 
we was childern ; an’ so yer see — ” 

Vance looked into his face. Yes, the battered old reprobate 
was trying to gulp down his agitation, and there were tears 
rolling down his cheeks. Vance was touched. 

“ Hyde, don’t you know me ? ” he said. 

“ What ! Mr. Vance ? Mr. Vance 1 ” 

“ Nobody else, Hyde. He comes here a United States offi- 
cer, you see.' New Orleans has surrendered to Uncle Sam. 
Look at that flag. Instead of being shot, you are set at liberty. 
Here ’s your old friend, Peek.” 

The knees of Colonel Delaney Hyde smote each other, and 
his florid face grew pale. Flesh and blood he could encounter 
well as any man, but a ghost was a piling on of something he 
hadn’t bargained for. Yet there palpably before him stood 
Peek, the identical Peek he believed to have been drowned in 
the Mississippi some fifteen years back. 


HOW IT WAS DONE. 


435 


“ Wall, how in creation — ” 

“ It ’s all right, Hyde,” interrupted Vance. “ And now if 
you want that sister of yours provided for, you just keep as 
close to my shadow as you can.” 

Hyde was too confounded and stupefied to make any reply. 
These revelations coming upon him like successive shocks from 
a galvanic-battery, were too much for his equanimity. Awe- 
struck and stunned, he stared stupidly, first at Vance, then at 
the flag, and finally at Peek. 

The roll of the drum, accompanied by Vance’s orders to the 
soldiers, roused him, and then attaching himself to Peek, he 
marched on with the rest, Peek beguiling the way with much 
useful and enlightening information. 

They had not marched farther than the next carriage-stand 
when Vance, leaving Captain Onslow in command, with orders 
to bivouac in Canal Street, slipped out of the ranks, and beck- 
oning to Peek and his companions, they all, including Antoine 
and Hyde, entered a vehicle which drove off with the faithful 
Victor running at its side. 

Behold them now in Vance’s old room at the St. Charles. 
The immediate matter of concern was, how to find Clara? 
How was the search to be commenced? 

Antoine, a bright, well-formed negro of cheerful aspect, after 
scratching his wool thoughtfully for a moment, said : “ Peek, 
you jes gib me them two glubs you say you ’ve got.” 

Antoine then took the gloves, and, throwing them on the 
floor, called Victor’s attention to them, and said : “ Now, Vic, 
I want yer to show these gemmen your broughten up. Ob 
dem two glubs, you jes bring me de one dat you tink you kn 
fine de owner ob right off straight, widout any mistake. Now, 
be car’ful.” 

Victor snuffed at the large glove, and instantly kicked it 
aside with contempt. Then, after a thoughtful scenting of the 
small glove, he took it up in his mouth and carried it to 
Antoine. 

“ Berry well,” said Antoine. “ Dat ’s your choice, is it ? Now 
tell me, Vic, hab yer had yer dinner ? ” 

The dog barked affirmatively. 

“ Berry well. Now take a good drink.” A^d, filling a 


436 


PECULIAR. 


washbowl with water, Antoine gave it to the dog, who lapped 
from it greedily. 

“ Hab yer had enough ? ” asked Antoine. 

Victor uttered an affirmative bark. 

“ Wall, now,” said Antoine, “ you jes take dis ere glub, an 
don’t yer come back till you fine out su’thin’ ’bout de owner ob 
it. Understan’ ? ” 

The dog again barked assent, and Antoine, escorting him 
down-stairs and out-of-doors, gave him the glove. Victor at 
once seized it between his teeth and trotted off at “ double- 
quick,” up St. Charles Street. 

During the interval of waiting for Victor’s return, “ Tell me 
now, Peek,” said Vance, “ of your own affairs. Have you 
been able to get any clew from Amos Slink to guide you in 
your search for your wife ? ” 

“ All that he could do,” replied Peek, “ was merely to con- 
firm what I already suspected as to Charlton’s agency in 
luring her back into the clutch of Slavery.” 

“I must make the acquaintance of that Charlton,” said 
Vance. “ And by the way, Hyde, you must know something 
of the man.” 

“ I know more nor I wish I did,” replied Hyde. “ I could 
scar’ up some old letters of his’n, I’m thinkin’, ef I was ter 
sarch in. an old trunk in the house of the Widder Rusk (her 
as is my sister) in Montgomery.” 

“Those letters we must have, Hyde,” said Vance. “You 
must lay your plans to get them. ’T would be hardly safe for 
you to trust yourself among the Rebels. They ’ve an awkward 
fashion of hanging up without ceremony all who profane the 
sanctity of Confederate scrip. But you, might send for the 
letters.” 

“That’s a fak, Kunnle Vance. I’m gittin’ over my taste 
for low society. I want nothin’ more ter do with the Rebels. 
But I ’ve a nephew at Montgomery, — Delaney Hyde Rusk, 
— who can smuggle them letters through the Rebel lines easy 
as a snake kn cahrry a toad through a stump-fence. He ’ll go 
his death for his Uncle Delaney. He ’s got the raal Hyde 
blood in him, — he has, — an’ no mistake.” 

“ Can he read and write ? ” 


HOW IT WAS DONE. 


437 


“ I ’m proud to say he kin, Kunnle. I towt his mother, and 
she towt him and the rest of the childern.” 

“Well, Hyde, go into the next room and write a letter to 
your nephew, telling him to start at once for New York city, 
and report himself to Mr. William C. Vance, Astor House. 
I ’ll give you a couple of hundred dollars to enclose for him to 
pay liis expenses, and a couple of hundred more for your 
sister.” 

Four hundred dollars ! What an epoch would it be in their 
domestic history, when that stupendous sum should fall into 
the hands of Mrs. Rusk ! Colonel Hyde moved with alacrity 
to comply with Vance’s bidding. 

Mr. Winslow and Captain Onslow now entered, followed by 
Colonel Blake, between whom and Vance a friendship had 
sprung up during the voyage from New York. Suddenly 
Peek, who had been looking from the window, exclaimed : 
“ There goes the man who could tell us, if he would, what we 
want.” 

“ Who is it?” cried Vance. 

“ Ratcliff’s lawyer, Semmes. See him crossing the street!” 

“ Captain Onslow,” said Vance, “ arrest the man at once.” 

Five minutes did not elapse before Semmes, bland and suave, 
and accompanied by Peek and Onslow, entered the room. 

- “ Ha ! my dear friend Winslow ! ” cried the old lawyer, put- 

ting out his hand, “ I ’m delighted to see you. Make me ac- 
quainted with your friends.” 

Winslow introduced him to all, not omitting Peek, to whom 
Semmes bowed graciously, as if they had never met before, 
and as if the negro were the whitest of Anglo-Saxons. 

“ Sit down, Mr. Semmes,” said Vance ; “ I have a few ques- 
tions to put to you. Please answer them categorically. Are 
you acquainted with a young lady, claimed by Mr. Carberry 
Ratcliff as a slave, educated by him at Mrs. Gentry’s school, 
and recently abducted by parties unknown from his house near 
Lafayette Square ? ” 

“ I do know such a young person,” replied Semmes ; “ I had 
her in my charge after Mr. Ratcliff’s compulsory departure 
from the city.” 

“ Well. And do you know where she now is ? ” 


438 


PECULIAR. 


“ I certainly do not.” 

“ Have you seen her since she left Ratcliff’s house ? ” 

Happily for Semmes, before he could perjure himself irre- 
trievably, there was a knock at the door, and Antoine entered, 
followed by the bloodhound, bearing something tied in a white 
handkerchief, in his mouth. 

A general sensation and uprising ! F or all except the law- 
yer had been made acquainted with the nature of the dog’s 
search. Semmes glanced at the bloodhound, — then at the 
negroes, — and then at the other persons present, with their 
looks of absorbed attention. Surely, there was a denouement 
expected ; and might it not be fatal to.him, if he left it to be 
supposed that he was colluding with Ratcliff in what would be 
stigmatized as rascality by low, cowardly, base-born Yankees, 
though, after all, it was only the act of a slave-owner enforcing 
his legal rights in a legitimate way? 

Darting forward, just as Vance received from Antoine the 
little bundle the dog had been carrying, the lawyer exclaimed : 
“ Colonel Vance, I do not know , but I can conjecture where 
the girl is. Seek her at Number 21 Camelia Place.” 

Vance paused, and looked the old lawyer straight in the eyes 
till the latter withdrew his glance, and resorted to his snuff-box 
to cover his discomfiture. Deep as he was, he saw that he had 
been fathomed. But Vance bowed politely, and said : “We 
will see, sir, if your information agrees with that of the dog.” 

He untied the handkerchief, took out the paper-weight, and 
underneath it found Clara’s note, which he opened and read. 
Then turning to the lawyer, he said : “ I congratulate you, Mr. 
Semmes. You were right in your conjecture .” 

None but Semmes and Peek noticed the slightly sarcastic 
stress which Vance put on this last word from his lips. 

Vance now knelt on one knee, and resting on the other the 
fore-legs of the bloodhound, patted his head and praised him in 
a manner which Victor, by his low, gratified whine, seemed 
fully to comprehend and appreciate. 

Peek, who had been restless ever since the words “21 Ca- 
melia Place ” had fallen on his ears, here said : “ Lend me your 
revolver, Mr. Vance, and don’t leave till I come back. I prom- 
ise not to rob you of your share in this work.” 


HOW IT WAS DONE. 


439 


“ I will trust you with the preliminary reconnoissance, Peek,” 
said Vance, giving up the weapon. “ Be quick about it.” 

Peek beckoned to Antoine, and the two went out, followed by 
the bloodhound. 

Mr. Semmes, now realizing that by some display of zeal, 
even if if were superserviceable, he might get rid of the ill 
odor which would follow from lending himself to Ratcliff’s 
schemes, approached Vance and said : “ Colonel, it was only 
quite recently that I heard of the suspicions that were enter- 
tained of foul play in the case of that little girl claimed by 
Ratcliff as a slave. Immediately I looked into the notary’s 
record, and I there found that the slave-child is set down as a 
quadroon ; a misstatement which clearly invalidates the title. I 
have also discovered a letter, written in French, and published 
in L’Abeille, in which some important facts relative to the loss 
of the Pontiac are given. The writer, Monsieur Laboulie, is 
now in the city. Finally, I have to inform you that Mr. Ripper, 
the auctioneer who sold the child, is now in this house. I 
would suggest that both he and the Mrs. Gentry, who brought 
her up, should be secured this very evening, as witnesses.” 

“I like your suggestion, Mr. Semmes,” said Vance, in a tone 
■which quite reassured the lawyer ; “ go on and make all the 
investigations in your power bearing on this case. Get the 
proper affidavit from Monsieur Laboulie. Secure the parties 
you recommend as witnesses. I employ you professionally.” 

In his rapid and penetrating judgments of men, Vance rarely 
went astray ; and when Semmes, who was thinking of a little 
private business of his own with the President of the Lafayette 
Bank, remarked, “ If you can dismiss me now, Colonel, I will 
meet you an hour hence at any place you name,” Vance knew 
the old lawyer would keep his promise, and replied : “ Certainly, 
Mr. Semmes. You will find me at 21 Camelia Place.” 

Peek and Antoine, taking a carriage, drove at full speed to 
the house designated. Here they found to their surprise in 
the mulatto Sam, a member of a secret society of men of Afri- 
can descent, bound together by faith in the speedy advent of 
the United States forces, and by the resolve to demand eman- 
cipation. Peek at once satisfied himself that Clara was in no 
immediate danger. He found that Sam had withdrawn the 


440 


PECULIAR. 


bullets from Ratcliff’s revolver, and was himself well armed, 
having determined to shoot down Ratcliff, if necessary, in lib- 
erating Clara. In pursuance of his plan he had lured the 
negrowoman, Agnes, up-stairs, under the pretence already 
mentioned. Here he had gagged, bound, and confined her 
securely. Hardly had he finished this job, when, looking out 
of the window, he had seen Peek and Antoine get out of a 
carriage and reconnoitre the house. Instantly he had run down- 
stairs, opened the front door, and made himself known. 

It was arranged that Antoine and Sam, well armed, and sup- 
ported by the bloodhound, should remain and look after Rat- 
cliff, not precipitating action, however, and not communicating 
with Clara, whose relief Peek had generously resolved should 
first come from the hands of Vance. 

Then jumping into the carriage, Peek drove to Lafay- 
ette Square, and taking in Madame Josephine and Esha, re- 
turned to the St. Charles Hotel. Here he told Vance all he 
had done, and introduced the two women, — Vance greeting 
Esha with much emotion, as he recognized in her that attend- 
ant at his wife’s death-bed for whom he had often sought. 

Four carriages were now drawn up on Gravier Street. Into 
one stepped Winslow, Hyde, and Vance ; into another Semmes, 
Blake, Onslow, and Blake’s trusty servant, Sergeant Decazes, 
the escaped slave. Into the third carriage stepped Madame 
Josephine, Esha, and Peek ; and into the fourth, Airs. Gentry 
and Mr. Ripper. 

This last vehicle must be regarded as the centre of interest, 
for over it the Loves and Graces languishingly hovered. 

In introducing Ripper to Airs. Gentry, Semmes had re- 
marked, in an aside to the former : “ A retired schoolma’am : 
some money there ! ” Here was a shaft that went straight to 
the auctioneer’s heart. In three minutes he drew from the 
lady the fact that, ten days before, she had received a visit from 
a Vigilance Committee, who had warned her, if she did not 
pay over to them five thousand dollars within a week, her 
house would be confiscated, sold, and the proceeds paid over to 
the Confederate treasury. “ Five thousand dollars indeed ! ” 
said the lady, in relating the interview ; “ a whole year’s in- 
come ! O, have n’t they been nicely come up with ! ” 

The Confederate highwaymen had done what Satan ^recom- 


HOW IT WAS DONE. 


441 


mended the Lord to do in the case of Job : they had tried Mrs. 
Gentry in her substance, and she had not stood the test. It 
had wrought a very sudden and radical change in her political 
notions. Even slavery was no longer the august and unap- 
proachable thing which she had hitherto imagined; and she 
threw out a sentiment which savored so much of the abolition 
heresy, that Ripper, thinking to advance himself in her good 
opinion, avowed himself boldly an emancipationist, and declared 
that slavery was “ played out.” These words, strange to say, 
did not make him less charming in Mrs. Gentry’s eyes. 

The drive in the carriage soon offered an opportunity for 
tenderer topics, and before they reached Camelia Street, the 
enterprising auctioneer had declared that he really believed he 
had at last, after a life-long search, found his “ affinity.” And 
from that he ventured to glide an arm round the lady’s waist, 
— a familiarity at which her indignation was so feebly simu- 
lated, that it only added new fuel to hope. 

But Camelia Place was now reached, and the carriages stop- 
ped. The whole party were noiselessly introduced into the 
house. Yance darted up to the room where Claras note had 
instructed him he could find her. Seeing the key on the out- 
side, he turned it, opened the door, and presented himself to 
Clara in the manner already related. The unsuspecting Rat- 
cliff soon followed, and then followed the scenes upon which 
the curtain has already been raised. 

As Yance left the house, with Clara on his arm, several of 
Ratcliff’s slaves gathered round them. To all these Yance 
promised immediate freedom and help. An old black hostler, 
named Juba, or Jube, who was also a theologian and a strenu- 
ous preacher, was spokesman for the freedmen. He proposed 
“tree chares for Massa Yance.” They were given with a will. 

“An’ now, Massa Yance,” said the Reverend Jube, “may 
de Lord bress yer fur cornin’ down har from de Norf ter free 
an’ help we. De Lord bress yer an’ de young Missis likewise. 
An’ when yer labors am all ended, an’ yer ’v chewed all de 
hard bones, an’ swollerd de bitter pill, may yer go ober Jordan 
wid a tight hold on de Lord, an’ not leeb go till yer git clar 
inter de city ob Zion.” * 

* Actual words of a negro preacher, taken down on the spot by a hearer. 

19 * 


442 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XLIII 


MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 


“ 0, blest with temper whose unclouded ray 
Can make to-morrow cheerful as to-day ! ” — Pope. 


SOUND of the prompter’s whistle, sharp and stridu- 



i lous. 

The scenes move, — they dispart. The Crescent City, with 


its squares and gardens filled with verdure, its stately steeples, 
and its streets lying lower than the river, and protected only 
by the great Levee from being converted into a bed for fishes, 
— the Crescent City, under the swift touch of our fairy 
scene-shifters, divides, slides, and disappears. 

A new scene simultaneously takes its place. It represents a 
street in New York. Not one of the clean, broad, well-kept 
avenues, lined on either side with mansions, beautiful and spa- 
cious. It is a trans-Bowery Street, narrow and noisome, dirty 
and dismal. There the market-man stops his cart and haggles 
for the price of a cabbage with the care-worn housewife, who 
has a baby in her arms and a two-year-old child tugging at 
her gown. Poor woman ! She tries to cover her bosom as 
the wayfarer, redolent of bad tobacco, passes by with a grin at 
her shyness. There the milkman rouses you at daylight by 
his fiendish yell, a nuisance not yet abated in the more barba- 
rous parts of the city. There the soap-man and the fish-man 
and the rag-man stop their carts, presenting in their visits the 
chief incidents that vary the monotony of life in Lavinia 
Street, if we except an occasional dog-fight. 

One of the tenements is a small, two-story brick house, with 
a basement beneath the street-level, and a dormer window in 
the attic. A family moved in only the day before yesterday. 
They have hardly yet got settled. Nevertheless, let us avail 
ourselves of the author’s privilege (universal “dead-head” that 
he is!) and enter. 


MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 


443 


We stand in a little hall, the customary flight of stairs being 
in front, while a door leads into the front sitting-room or 
parlor on the left. Entering this room, the first figure we 
notice is an apparently young man, rather stout, with black 
whiskerf and hair, and dressed in a loose sack and pantaloons, 
in the size and cut of which the liberal fashion of the day is 
somewhat exaggerated. He stands in low-cut shoes and flesh- 
colored silk stockings. About his neck he wears a choker of 
the most advanced style, and tied with a narrow lustring rib- 
bon, gay with red and purple. As his back is partly turned to 
us, we cannot yet see who he is. 

A woman, in age perhaps not far from fifty, with a pleasant, 
well-rounded face, and attired in a white cambric wrapper, 
richly embroidered, her hair prudently hidden under a brown 
chenille net, stands holding a framed picture, waiting for it to 
be hung. It is Marshall’s new engraving of Washington. 
The lady is Mi'S. Pompilard, born Aylesford ; and the youth 
on the chair is her husband, the old, yet vernal, the venerable 
yet blooming, Albert himself. It is more than ten years since 
he celebrated his seventieth birthday. 

Having hung the picture, Pompilard stepped down, and said : 
Ci There ! Show me the place in the whole city where that 
picture would show to more advantage than just there in that 
one spot. The color of the wall, the light from the window 
are just what they ought to be to bring out all the beauties. 
Let us not envy Belmont and Roberts and Stewart and Aspin- 
wall their picture-galleries, — let us be guilty of no such folly, 
Mrs. Pompilard, — while we can show an effect like that ! ” 

“ Who spoke of envying them, Albert ? Not I, I ’m sure ! 
The house will do famously for our temporary use. Yet it 
puzzles me a little to know where I am to stow these two chil- 
dren of Melissa’s.” 

“ Pooh ! That can be easily managed. Leonora can have 
a mattress put down for her in the upper entry ; and as for the 
five-year-old, Albert, my namesake, he can throw himself down 
anywhere, — in the wood-shed, if need be. Indeed, his mother 
tells me she found him, the other night, sleeping on the boards 
of the piazza, in order, as he said, to harden himself to be a 
soldier. How is poor Purling this morning?” 


444 


PECULIAR 


“ His wound seems to be healing, but he ’s deplorably low- 
spirited; so Melissa tells me.” 

“ Low-spirited ? But we must n’t allow it ! The man who 
could fight as he did at Fair Oaks ought to be jolly for the 
rest of his life, even though he had to leave an arih behind 
hirft on the battle-field.” . 

“ It is n’t his wound, I suspect, that troubles him, but the 
state of his affairs. The truth is, Purling is fearfully poor, 
and he ’s too honest to run in debt. His castles in the air 
have all tumbled in ruins. Nobody will buy his books, and 
his publishers have all failed.” 

“ But he can’t help that. The poor fellow has done his best, 
and I maintain that he has talents of a certain sort.” 

“ Perhaps so, but his forte is not imaginative writing.” 

“ Then let him try history.” 

“ But I repeat it, my dear Albert, imaginative writing is not 
his forte.” 

* “Ah! true. You are getting satirical, Mrs. Pompilard. 
Our historians, you think, are prone to exercise the novelist’s 
privilege. Let us go up and see the Major.” 

They mounted one flight of stairs to the door of the front 
chamber, and knocked. It was opened by Mrs. Purling, once 
the sentimental Melissa, now a very matronly figure, but still 
training a few flaxen, maiden-like curls over her temples, and 
shedding an air of youth and summer from her sky-blue calico 
robe, with its straw-colored facings. She inherited much of 
the paternal temperament ; and, were it not that her husband’s 
desponding state of mind had clouded her spirits, she would 
have shown her customary aspect of cheerful serenity. 

“Is the Major awake?” 

“ 0 yes ! Walk in.” 

“Ah! Cecil, my hearty,” exclaimed Pompilard, “how are 
you getting on?” 

“ Pretty well, sir. The wound ’s healing, I believe. I ’m 
afraid we ’re inconveniencing you shockingly, coming here, all 
of us, bag and baggage.” 

“ Don’t speak of it, Major. Even if we are inconvenienced 
(which I deny), what then ? Ought n’t we , too, to do some- 
thing for our country ? If you can afford to contribute an arm, 


MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 


445 


ought n’t we to contribute a few trifling conveniences ? For 
my part, I never see a maimed or crippled soldier in the street, 
that I don’t take off my hat to him ; and if he is poor, I give 
him what I can afford. Was he not wounded fighting for the 
great idea of national honor, integrity, freedom, — fighting for 
me and my children ? The cold-blooded indifference with which 
people who stay snugly and safely at home pass by these noble 
relics from the battle-field, and pursue their selfish amusements 
and occupations while thousands of their countrymen are peril- 
ing life and health in their behalf, is to me inexplicable. If 
we can’t give anything else, let us at least give our sympathy 
and respect, our little word of cheer and of honor, to those who 
have sacrificed so much in order that we might be undisturbed 
in our comforts ! ” 

“ I ’m afraid, sif,” continued the Major, “ that your good feel- 
ings blind you to the gravity, in a domestic point of view, of 
this incursion into your household of the whole Purling race. 
But the truth is, I expected a remittance, about this time, from 
my Philadelphia publisher. It does n’t come. I wonder what 
can be the matter ? ” 

Yes ! The insatiable Purling, having exhausted New York, 
had gone to Philadelphia with his literary wares, and had found 
another victim whose organ of marvellousness was larger than 
his bump of caution. 

“ Don’t bother yourself about remittances, Major,” said Pom- 
pilard. “ Don’t be under any concern. You must n’t suppose 
that because, in an eccentric freak, Mrs. Pompilard has chosen 
to occupy this little out-of-the-way establishment, the exchequer 
is therefore exhausted. Some persons might complain of the 
air of this neighborhood. True, the piny odors of the forest 
are more agreeable than the exhalations one gets from the 
desiccating gutters under our noses. True, the song of the 
thrush is more entrancing than the barbaric yell of that lazy 
milkman who sits in his cart and shrieks till some one shall 
come wdtli a pitcher. But in all probability we sha’n’t occupy 
these quarters longer than the summer months. Why it was 
that Mrs. Pompilard should select them, more especially for 
the summer months, has mystified me a little ; but the ladies 
know best. Am sorry we could n’t welcome you at Redcliff 


446 


PECULIAR. 


or Thrushwood, or some other of our old country-seats ; but — 
the fact is, we ’ve disposed of them all. To what we have, my 
dear Cecil, considei yourself as welcome as votes to a candi- 
date or a contract to an alderman. So don’t let me hear you 
utter the word remittances again.” 

“ Ah ! my dear father, we men can make light of these 
household inconveniences, but they fall heavy on the women.” 

“ Not on my wife, bless her silly heart ! Why, she ’ll be 
going round bragging that she has a wounded Major in her 
house. She ’s proud of you, my hero of ten battles ! Did n’t 
I hear her just now boasting to the water-rate collector, that 
she had a son in the house who had lost an arm at Fair Oaks ? 
A son, Major ! Ha, ha, ha ! Was n’t it laughable ? She ’s 
trying to make people think you ’re her son ! I tell you, Cecil, 
while Albert Pompilard has a crust to eat or*a kennel to creep 
into, the brave volunteer, wounded in his country’s cause, shall 
not want for food or shelter.” 

The Major looked wistfully at Mrs. Pompilard, and said : 
“ He does n’t make allowance for a housekeeper’s troubles, — 
does he, mother ? So long as the burden does n’t fall on him, 
he does n’t realize what a bore it is to have an extra family 
on one ? s hands when one barely has accommodations for one’s 
own.” 

“ What he says, I say, Cecil ! ” replied Madame, kissing the 
invalid’s pale forehead. “ You ’re a thousand times welcome, 
my dear boy, — you and Melissa and the children ; and 
where will you find two better children, or who give less 
trouble ? No fear but we can accommodate you all. And if 
you ’ve any wounded companion who wants to be taken care 
of, just send him on. For your sake, Cecil, and for the sake 
of the old flag, we ’ll take him in, and do our best by him.” 

“ Hear her ! Hear the darling little woman ! ” exclaimed 
Pompilard, lifting her in his arms, and kissing her with a gen- 
uine admiration. “ Bravo, wife ! Give me the woman whose 
house is like a Bowery omnibus, always ready for one more. 
While this war lasts, every true lady in the land ought to be 
willing to give up her best room, if wanted, for a hospital.” 

The hero of Fair Oaks was suddenly found to be snivelling. 
He made a movement with his right shoulder as if to get a 


MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 


447 


handkerchief, but remembering that his arm was gone, he used 
his left hand to wipe away liis tears. “ You ’re responsible, 
between you, for this break-down,” said the lachrymose Major. 
“ I ’m sure I thank you. You ’ve given me two good starts in 
life already, father, and both times I ’ve gone under. With 
such advantages as I ’ve had, I ought to be a rich man, and 
here I am a pauper. Poor Melissa and the children are bound 
to be dependent on their friends. I ’m afraid I ’m an incom- 
petent, a ne’er-do-well.” 

Pompilard flourished a large white silk handkerchief, and, 
blowing his nose sonorously, replied : “ Bah ! ’T was no fault 
of yours, Cecil, that your operations out West proved a failure. 
’T was the fortune of war. I despise the man who never made 
a blunder. How the deuce could you know that a great finan- 
cial revulsion was coming on, just after you had bought ? Let 
the spilt milk sink into the sand. Don’t fret about it. We ’ll 
have you hearty as a buck in a week or two. You shall rejoin 
your regiment in time for the next great fight.” 

The Major smiled faintly, and, shaking his head incredu- 
lously, replied : “ The fact is, what makes me so low is, that, at 
the time I went into that last fight, I was just recovering from 
a fever got in the swamps of the Chickahominy.” 

“ I know all about it, my brave boy ! I ’ve just got a letter, 
Mrs. Pompilard, from his surgeon. He writes me, he forbade 
Cecil’s moving from his bed ; told him ’t would be at the risk 
of his life. Like a gallant soldier, Cecil rose up, pale and 
wasted as he was, and went into the thick .of the frolic. A 
Minie bullet in the right arm at last checked his activity. 
Faint from exhaustion and loss of blood, he sank insensible on 
the damp field, and there lay twenty-four hours without succor, 
without food, the cold night-dews aggravating his disease.” 

“ Well, father,” said the Major, “ between you and me, su- 
peradded to the fever I got a rheumatic affection, which I ’m 
afraid will prevent my doing service very soon again in the 
field.” 

“ So much the better ! ” returned Pompilard. “ Then, my 
boy, we can keep you at home, — have you with us all the 
time. You can sit in your library and write books, while 
Molasses sits by and works slippers for old blow-hard, as the 
boys here in Lavinia Street have begun to call me.” 


448 


PECULIAR. 


“ My books don’t sell, sir,” sighed the ex-author, with another 
incredulous shake of the head. “ Either there ’s a conspiracy 
among the critics to keep me down, or else I ’m grossly mis- 
taken in my vocation. Besides, I ’ve lost my right arm, and 
can’t write. “ Do you know,” he continued, wiping away a 
tear, — “ do you know what one of the newspapers said on 
receiving the news of my wound? Well, it said, ‘This will 
be a happy dispensation for publishers and the public, if it 
shall have the effect of keeping the Major from again using 
the pen ! ’ ” 

“ The unclean reptile ! ” exclaimed Pompilard, grinding his 
heel on the floor as if he would crush something. “ Don’t mind 
such ribaldry, Major.” 

“ I would n’t, if I were n’t afraid there ’s some truth in it,” 
sighed the unsuccessful author. 

“ It ’s an entire lie ! ” exclaimed Pompilard ; “ your books 
are good books, — excellent books, — and people will find it 
out some of these days. You shall write another. You don’t 
need an arm, do you, to help you do brain-work ? Did n’t Sir 
Walter employ an amanuensis ? Why can’t Major Purling do 
the same ? Why can’t he dictate his magnum opus , — the 
crowning achievement of his literary life, — his history of the 
Great Rebellion, — why can’t he dictate it as well without as 
with an arm ? ” 

The Major’s lips began to work and his eyes to brighten. 
Ominous of disaster to the race of publishers, the old spirit 
began to be roused in him, bringing animation and high resolve. 
The passion of authorship, long repressed, was threatening to 
rekindle in that bosom. He tried to rub his forehead with his 
right hand, but finding it gone, he resorted to his left. His hair 
(just beginning to get crisp and grayish over his ears) he 
pushed carelessly away from his brow. He jerked himself up 
from his pillow, and exclaimed : “ Upon my word, father-in- 
law, that ’s not a bad idea of yours, — that idea of tackling 
myself to a history of the war. Let me see. How large a 
work ought it to be ? Could it be compressed into six volumes 
of the size of Irving’s Washington ? I think it might. At 
any rate, I could try. ‘A History of the Great Rebellion: 
its Rise and Fall. By Cecil Purling, late Major of Volunteers.* 


MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 


449 


Motto : ( All which I saw and part of which I was.’ Come, 
now ! That would n’t sound badly.” 

“ It would be a trump card for any publisher,” said Pompi- 
lard, growing to be sincerely sanguine. “ Get up the right kind 
of a Prospectus, and publish the work by subscription. I could 
procure a thousand subscribers myself. There ’s no reason 
why we shouldn’t get twenty thousand. We might all make 
our fortunes by it.” 

“ So we might ! ” exclaimed the excited Major, forgetting 
that there were ladies present, and that he had on only his 
drawers, and leaping out of bed, then suddenly leaping back 
again, and begging everybody’s pardon. “ It can be easily cal- 
culated,” continued he. “Just hand me a slip of paper and a 
pencil, Melissa. Thank you. Look now, father-in-law ; twenty 
thousand copies at two dollars a volume for six volumes would 
give a hundred and forty thousand dollars clear. Throw off fifty 
per cent of that for expenses, commissions, printing, binding, 
et cetera, and we have left for our profit seventy thousand dollars / 

“ Nothing can be plainer,” said Pompilard. 

“ But the publisher would want the lion’s share of that,” 
interposed Melissa. 

“ Pooh ! What do you know about it ? ” retorted Pompilard. 
“ If we get up the work by subscription, we can take an office 
and do our own publishing.” 

“ To be sure we can ! ” exclaimed the Major, reassured. 

Here Pompilard’s eldest daughter, Angelica Ireton, long a 
widow, and old enough to be a grandmother, entered the room 
with a newspaper. 

“ What is it, Jelly ? ” asked the paternal voice. 

“ News of the surrender of Memphis ! And, only think of 
it ! Frederick is highly complimented in the despatch.” 

“ Good for Fred ! ” said Pompilard. “ Make a note of it, 
Major, for the new history.” 

A knock at the door now introduced the once elfish and imi- 
tative Netty, or Antoinette, grown up into a dignified young 
lady of striking appearance, who, if not handsome, had a face 
beaming with intelligence and the cheerfulness of an earnest 
purpose. She wore, not a Bloomer, but a sort of blouse, 
which looked well on her erect and slender figure; and her 

cc 


450 


PECULIAR. 


hair, as if to be put out of harm’s way in working hours, was 
combed back into a careless though graceful knot. 

“ Walk in, Netty ! ” said the wounded man. 

“ Here ’s our great artiste , — our American Rosa Bonheur ! ” 
cried Pompilard, patting her on the head. 

“ Why, father, I never painted a horse or a cow in my life,” 
expostulated Netty. “ Remember, I ’m a marine painter. I 
deal in ships, shipwrecks, calms, squalls, and sea-washed rocks ; 
not in cattle.” 

“ Yes, Cecil, she ’s engaged on a bit of beach scenery, which 
will make a sensation when ’t is hung in the Academy. Bet- 
ter sea- water has n’t been painted since Yernet ; and she beats 
Vernet in rigging her ships.” 

“ Hear him,” said the artistic Netty. “ All his geese are 
swans. What a ridiculous papa it is ! ” 

“ Go back to your easel, girl,” exclaimed Pompilard. “ Cecil 
and I are talking business.” 

“ And that reminds me,” said Netty, “ I came to say that Mr. 
Maloney is in the parlor, and wants to see you.” 

“ Has the rascal found me out so soon ? ” muttered Pompi- 
lard. “ I supposed I had dodged him.” 

“ Dodged Mi\ Maloney, dear ? What harm has he ever 
committed ? ” asked Mrs. Pompilard, in surprise. 

“No harm, perhaps ; but he ’s the most persistent of duns.” 

“ Is he dunning you now, my love ? ” 

“ Yes, all the time.” 

“ Do you owe him much ? ” 

“Not a cent, confound him ! ” 

“ Then what is he dunning you for ? ” 

“ O, he ’s dunning me to get me to borrow money of him, 
and I know he can’t afford to lend it.” 

“ Go and see him, my dear, and treat him civilly at least.” 

Pompilard turned to the Major, who was now deep in his 
Prospectus, and fired with the thought of a grand success that 
should make amends for all his past failures in authorship. 
Seeing that the invalid was thoroughly cured of his attack of 
the blues, Pompilard remarked, “ Strike while the iron ’s hot, 
Major,” and passed out to meet the visitor who was waiting for 
liim below. 


MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 


451 


Pat Maloney was pacing the parlor in a great rage ; and 
he exploded in these words, as Pompilard presented himself: 
“Arn’t ye ashamed to look an honest man in the face, yer 
desateful ould sinner ? ” 

“ What ’s the bother now, Pat ? Whose mare ’s dead ? ” 
said Pompilard. 

“ Whose mare ’s dead, yer wicked ould man ? Is that the 
kind o’ triflin’ ye think is goin’ down wid Pat Maloney ? Look 
at that wall.” 

“ Well, what of it ? ” 

“ What of it ? See the cracks of it, bedad, and the dirt 
of it, and the damp of it, and hearken to the rats of it, yer 
wicked ould man ! What of it ? See that baste of a cock- 
roach cornin’ out as confidint as ye plaze, and straddlin’ across 
the floor. Smell that smell up there in the corner. Dead 
rats, by jabbers ! And this is the entertainment, is it, ye 
bring a dacent family to, that was n’t born to stenches and 
filthiness ! Typhus and small-pox in every plank under the 
feet of ye ! And a sick sodger ye ’ve got in the house too ; 
and because he was n’t quite kilt down in them swamps on the 
Chickahominy, ye think ye ’ll stink him to death in this hole 
of all the nastiness ! ” 

“ Mr. Maloney, this is my house, sir, such as it is, and I 
must request you either to walk out of it or to keep a civil 
tongue in your head.” 

“ Hoo ! Ye think to come the dignified over me, do ye, yer 
silly ould man ! I ’m not to be scaret by any such airs. I tell 
ye it ’s bastely to bring dacent women and children inter sich a 
cesspool as this. By jabbers, I shall have to stop at Barker’s, 
as I go back, and take a bath.” 

“ Maloney, leave the house.” 

“ Lave the house, is it ? Not till I ’m ready, will I lave the 
house on the biddin’ of the likes of a man who has n’t more 
regard for the mother that bore him nor to do what you ’ve 
been doin’, yer ould barbarryan.” 

“ Quit the house, I say ! If you think I ’m going to borrow 
money of a beggarly Irish tailor, you ’ll find yourself mistaken, 
Mr. Pat Maloney ! ” 

“ 0, it ’s that game yez thinkin’ to come on me, is it ? Ha ! 


452 


PECULIAR. 


By jabbers, I ’m ready for yer there too. He ’s a beggarly 
Irish tailor, is he ? Then why did ye have the likes o’ him at 
all yer grand parties at Iledcliff ? Why did ye have him and 
his at all yer little family hops ? Why could n’t ye git through 
a forenoon, yer ould hyppercrit, widout the beggarly Irish tailor, 
to play billiards wid yer, or go a fishin’ wid yer, or a sailin’ 
wid yer ? ” 

“ I don’t choose to keep up the acquaintance, Mr. Maloney, 
now that you are poor.” 

“ That ’s the biggest lie ye iver tould in yer life, yer ould 
chate ! ” 

“ Do you tell me I lie ? Out of my house ! Pay your own 
debts, you blackguard Paddy, before you come playing flush of 
your money to a gentleman like me.” 

“A jintleman ! Ye call yerself a jintleman, do ye, — ye 
onnateral ould simpleton ? Ye bring born ladies inter a foul, 
mireputable house like this is, in a foul, unreputable street, wid 
a house of ill-fame on both sides of yer, and another oppersit, 
and then ye call yerself a jintleman. A jintleman, bedad ! 
Ha, ha!” 

“ You lie, Pat Maloney. My next-door neighbors are de- 
cent folks, — much decenter than you are, you foul-mouthed 
Paddy.” 

“ And thin ye tell me to pay my debts, do yer? Find the 
debt of Pat Maloney’s that ’s unpaid, and he ’ll pay it double, 
yer unprincipled ould calumniator. If ’t warrent for yer eighty 
yares, I ’d larrup yer on the spot.” 

“ I claim no privilege of age, you cowardly tailor. That ’s 
a dodge of yours that won’t serve. Come on, you ninth part 
of a man, if you have even that much of a man left in you. 
Come on, or I ’ll pound your head against the wall.” 

“ Ye ’d knock the house down, bedad, if ye tried it. I ’d 
like no better sport nor to polish ye off wid these two fists of 
mine, yer aggrawatin’ superannuated ould haythen.” 

“ You shall find what my eighty years can do, you ranting 
Paddy. Since you won't go quietly out of the house, I ’ll put 
you out.” 

And Pompilard began pulling up his sleeves, as if for action. 
Maloney was not behind him in his pugilistic demonstrations. 


MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 


453 


“ If ye want to have the wind knocked out of yer,” said he, 
“jist try it, yer quarrelsome ould bully, — gittin’ up a disturb- 
ance like this at your time of life ! ” 

Here Angelica, who had been listening at the door, burst 
into the room, and interposed between the disputants. By the 
aid of some mysterious signs and winks addressed to Maloney, 
she succeeded in pacifying him so far that he took up his hat, 
and shaking his head indignantly at Pompilard, followed her 
out of the room. The front door was heard to open and close. 
Then there was a slight creaking on the basement stairs, fol- 
lowed by a coughing from Angelica, and a minute afterwards 
she re-entered the parlor. 

She found her father with his fists doubled, and his breast 
thrown back, knocking down an imaginary Irishman in dumb 
show. 

“ Has that brute left the house ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, father. What did he want ? ” 

“ He has been dunning me to borrow a couple of thousand 
dollars of him, — the improvident old fool. He needs every 
cent of his money in his business. He knows it. He merely 
wants to put me under an obligation, knowing I may never pay 
him back. He can’t dupe me.” 

“ If ’t would gratify poor Maloney, why not humor him ? ” 
said Angelica. “ He feels eternally grateful to you for having 
made a man of him. You helped him to a fortune. He has 
often said he owed it to you that he was n’t a sot about the 
streets.” 

“ If I helped him to a fortune, I showed him how to lose it, 
Jelly. So there we ’re just even. I tell you I won’t get in 
debt again, if I can help it. You, Jelly, are the only one I ’ve 
borrowed from since the last great crash.” 

“And in borrowing from me, you merely take back your 
own,” interposed Angelica. 

“ I ’ve paid everything in the way of a debt, principal and 
interest,” said Pompilard. “ And I don’t want to break the 
charm again at my time of life. Debt is the Devil’s own snare. 
I know it from sad exjjerience. I ’ve two good schemes on 
foot for retrieving my affairs, without having to risk much 
money in the operation. If you can let me have five hundred 
dollars, I think k will be the only nest-egg I shall need.” 


454 


PECULIAR. 


“ Certainly, father,” said Angelica ; and going down-stairs 
into the basement, she found the persevering Maloney waiting 
her coming. 

“ Mr. Maloney,” said she, “ let me propose a compromise. 
My father wants five hundred dollars of me. I have n’t it to 
give him. But if you ’ll lend it on my receipt, I ’ll take it and 
be very thankful.” 

“ Make it a thousand, and I ’ll say yes,” said Pat. 

“Well, I’ll not haggle with you, Mr. Maloney,” replied 
Angelica. 

Maloney handed her the money, and, refusing to take a re- 
ceipt, seized his hat, and quitted the house by the back area, 
looking round suspiciously, and snuffing contemptuously at the 
surroundings, as he emerged into the alley-way which conduct- 
ed him to one of the streets leading into the Bowery. 

Angelica put five hundred dollars in her port-monnaie, and 
handed the like amount to her sire. He thrust it into his vest- 
pocket, brushed his hat, and arranged his choker. Mrs. Pom- 
pilard came down with the Prospectus that was to be the 
etymon of a new fortune. He took it, kissed wife and daugh- 
ter, and issued from the house. 

As he passed up Lavinia Street, many a curious eye from be- 
hind curtains and blinds looked out admiringly on the imposing 
figure. One boy on the sidewalk remarked to another : “ I 
say, Ike, who is that old swell as has come into our street ? 
I’ve a mind to shy this dead kitten at him.” 

“ Don’t do it, Peter Craig ! ” exclaimed Ike ; “ father says 
that man ’s a detective, — a feller as sees you when you think 
he ain’t looking. We’d better mind how we call arter him 
again, 6 Old blow-hard ! ’ ” 


A DOMESTIC RECONNOISSANCE. 


455 


CHAPTER X L I V . 


A DOMESTIC RECONNOISSANCE. 

“ 0 Spirit of the Summer time ! 

Bring back the roses to the dells ; 

The swallow from her distant clime, 

The honey-bee from drowsy cells. 

Bring back the singing and the scent 
Of meadow-lands at dewy prime ; — 

0, bring again my heart’s content, 

Thou Spirit of the Summer time ! ” 

W. Allingham. 


T HE following Wednesday, Pompilard returned rather 
earlier than usual from his diurnal visit to Wall Street. 
He brought home a printed copy of the Prospectus, and sent it 
up-stairs to the wounded author. Then taking from the book- 
case a yellow-covered pamphlet, he composed himself in an 
arm-chair, and, resting his legs on an ottoman, began reading 
that most thrilling production of the season, “ The Guerilla’s 
Bride, or the Temptation and the Triumph, by Carrie Cameron.” 

Mrs. Pompilard glided into the room, and, putting her hands 
over his eyes from behind, said, “ What ’s the matter, my 
love ? ” 

“ Matter ? Nothing, wife ! Leave me to my novel.” 

“ Always of late,” she replied, “ when I see you with one of 
these sensation novels, I know that something has gone w~ong 
with you.” 

u Nonsense, you silly woman ! I know what you want. It ’s 
a kiss. There ! Take it and go.” 

“ You ’ve lost money! ” said Madam, receiving the kiss, then 
shaking her finger at him, and returning to her household 
tasks. 

She was right in her surmise. Pompilard, hopeful of Union 
victories on the Peninsula of Virginia, had been selling gold in 
expectation of a fall. There had been a large rise, and his five 
hundred dollars had been swallowed up in the great maw of 


456 


PECULIAR. 


Wall Street like a straw in Niagara. He passed the rest of 
that day in the house, reading his novel, or playing backgam- 
mon with the Major. 

The next morning, putting the Prospectus and his pride 
with it in his pocket, he issued forth, resolved to see what could 
be done in furtherance of the grand literary scheme which was 
to immortalize and enrich his son-in-law. Entering Broadway 
he walked up to Union Park, then along Fourteenth Street to 
the Fifth Avenue. And now, every square or two, he would 
pass door-plates that displayed some familiar name. Fre- 
quently he would be tempted to stop, but he passed on and on, 
until he came to one which bore in large black walnut letters 
the name Charlton. 

With this gentleman he had not had any intercourse since 
the termination of that great lawsuit in which they had been 
opposed. Charlton, having put the greater part of his property 
into gold just before the war, had made enormous sums by the 
rise in the precious metal. It was noticed in Wall Street, that 
he was growing fat ; that he had lost his anxious, eager look. 
War was not such a bad thing after all. Surely he would be 
glad of the opportunity of subscribing for five or ten copies of 
the wounded Purling’s great work. 

These considerations encouraged the credulous Pompilard to 
call. A respectable private carriage stood before the house, 
and in it sat a young lady, probably Miss Charlton, playing 
with a pet spaniel. Pompilard rang the door-bell, and a dapper 
footman in white gloves ushered him up-stairs into the library. 
Here Charlton sat computing his profits on the rates of ex- 
change as given in that day’s report. 

He rose on Pompilard’s entrance, and with a profuse polite- 
ness that contrasted somewhat with his manner on previous 
occasions, shook hands with him, and placed him in a seat. 
Excessive prosperity had at last taught Charlton to temper his 
refusals with gracious speech. s It was s p ipuch cheaper to give 
smooth words than solid coin ! 

“ Am delighted to see you, Mr. Pompilard ! ” quoth he. “ How 
lresh and young you ’re looking ! Your family are all well, I 
trust.” 

All save my son-in-law, Major Purling. He, having been 


A DOMESTIC RECONNOISSANCE. 


457 


thrown on his back by a bad wound and by sickness got in 
camp, now proposes to occupy himself with preparing a history 
of the war. Here is his Prospectus, and we want your name 
! to head the subscription.” 

“A most laudable project! Excellent! I don’t doubt the 
Major’s ability to produce a most authentic and admirable work. 
I shall take great pleasure in commending it to my friends.” 

I Here Charlton, who had received one of the papers from 
P ompilard, and glanced at it, handed it back to the old man. 

“ I want your autograph, Mr. Charlton. The work, you per- 
j ceive, will be in six volumes at only two dollars a volume. For 
| how many copies will you put down your name ? ” 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Pompilard, but the demands on my purse 
| for objects, public and private, are so incessant just now, that I 
must decline subscribing. Probably when the work is pub- 
lished I shall desire to procure a copy for my library. I have 
: heard of Major Purling as a gallant officer and a distinguished 
j writer. I can’t doubt he will succeed splendidly. Make my 
compliments to your estimable family.” 

Here a lady elegantly dressed, as if for a promenade, entered 
the room, and asked for the morning paper. She looked search- 
ingly at Pompilard, and then went up to him, and putting out 
her hand, said, “ Have you forgotten Charlotte Dykvelt ? ” 

“ Impossible ! Who could have believed it ? And you are 
now Mrs. Charlton ! ” 

The lady’s lip curled a little, as if no gracious emotion came 
| with the reminder. Then taking from the old man’s hand the 
printed sheet which Charlton had returned to him, she ex- 
I claimed : “ What have we here ? A Prospectus ! Is not Ma- 
jor Purling your son-in-law ? To be sure he is ! A brave 
j officer ! He must be encouraged in his project. And how is 
| your daughter, Mrs. Ireton ? I see,” continued Mrs. Charlton, 
laying down the Prospectus and pulling away nervously at her 
gloves, — “I see that your grandson, Captain Ireton, has been 
liighly complimented for gallant behavior on the Mississippi.” 

“ Yes, he ’s a good boy, is Fred. Do you know he was a 
great admirer of yours ? ” 

The lady was suddenly absorbed in looking for a certain 
advertisement of a Soldier’s Relief Meeting. Pompilard took 
20 


458 


PECULIAR. 


up his Prospectus, began folding it, and rose from his chair as 
if to go. 

“Let me look at that Prospectus a moment,” said Mrs. 
Charlton, taking up a pen. 

“ Certainly,” he replied, handing her the paper. While she 
read it, he examined what appeared a bronze vase that stood 
on one side of the table. He undertook to lift it, and drew 
out from a socket, which extended beneath the surface of the 
wood, a polished steel tube. 

“ Take care, Mr. Pompilard ! ” said Charlton ; “ ’t is loaded. 
No one would suppose ’t was a revolver, eh ? I got it the day 
after old VanWyck was robbed, sitting in his library. Please 
don’t mention the fact that I have such a weapon within my 
reach.” 

“I have put down my name for thirty copies,” said Mrs. 
Charlton, returning to Pompilard his Prospectus. 

“ But this is munificent, Madam ! ” exclaimed the old man. 

Charlton gnawed his lips in helpless anger. 

Madam had played her cards so well, that it was a stipula- 
tion she and her daughter should have each a large allowance, 
in the spending of which they were to be independent. Draw- 
ing forth her purse, she took from it three one hundred dollar 
bills, a fifty, and a ten, and handed them to Pompilard. 

“ Do you wish to pay in advance, Madam ? ” he asked. 

“ I wish that money to be paid directly to the author, to aid 
him in his patriotic labors,” she replied. “ There need be no 
receipt, and there need be no delivery of books.” 

Pompilard took the bills and looked her in the face. He 
felt that words would be impertinent in conveying his thanks. 
She gave him one sad, sweet smile of acknowledgment of his 
silent gratitude. “Major Purling,” said he, in a tone that 
trembled a little, “ will be greatly encouraged by your liber- 
ality. I will bid you good morning, Madam. Good morning, 
Mr. Charlton!” 

Husband and wife were left alone. 

“ That ’s the way you fool away my money, is it, Mrs. Charl- 
ton? Three hundred and sixty dollars disposed of already 
A nice morning’s work!” 

“ You speak of the money as your3, sir. You forget. By 


A DOMESTIC RECONNOISSANCE. 


459 


contract it is mine. I shall spend it as I choose. Does not 
our agreement say that my allowance and my daughter’s shall 
be absolutely at our disposal?” 

“Those allowances, Mrs. Charlton, must be cut down to 
meet the state of the times. I can’t afford them any 
| ! longer.” 

“ Sir, you say what you know to be untrue. Your profits 
, from the rise in exchange alone, since the war began, have 
already been two hundred thousand dollars. The rise in your 
securities generally has been enormous. And yet you talk of 
not affording the miserable pittance you allow me and my 
daughter ! ” 

“ A miserable pittance ! O yes ! Ten thousand a year for 
! pin-money is a very miserable pittance.” 

“ So it is, when one lays by five times that amount of super- 
fluous income. Thank me that I don’t force you to double 
the allowance. Do you think to juggle me with your groans 
about family expenses and the hard times ? Am I so easily 
duped, think you, as not to see through the miserly sham ? ” 

“This is the woman that promised to love, honor, and 
obey ! ” 

“ Do you twit me with that ? Go back, Charlton, to that 
! first day you pressed me to be your wife. I frankly told you 
I could not love you, — that I loved another. You made light 
of all that. You enlisted the influence of my parents against 
me. You drove me into the toils. No sooner was I married 
than I found that you, with all your wealth, had chosen me 
merely because you thought I was rich. What a satisfaction 
it was to me when I heard of my father’s failure ! What was 
1 your disappointment, — your rage ! But there was no help for 
it. And so we settled down to a loveless life, in which we 
i have thus far been thoroughly consistent- You go your way, 
and I mine. You find your rapture in your coupons and divi- 
dends ; I seek such distraction as I can in my little charities, 
my Sanitary Aid Societies, and my Seaman’s Relief. If you 
[ think to cut me off from these resources, the worst will proba- 
bly be your own.” 

Charlton was cowed and nonplussed, as usual in these alter- 
cations. “ There, go ! ” said he. “ Go and make ducks and 


460 


PECULIAR. 


drakes of your money in your own way. That old Pomposity 
has left his damned Prospectus here on the table.” 

Mrs. Charlton passed out and down-stairs. On a slab in 
the hall was a bouquet which a neighboring greenhouse man 
she had befriended had just left. She stooped to smell of it. 
What was there in the odors which brought back associations 
that made her bow her head while the tears gushed forth? 
Conspicuous among the flowers was a bunch of English vio- 
lets, — just such a little bunch as Frederick Ireton used to 
bring her in those far-off days, when the present and the future 
seemed so flooded with rose-hues. 

“ Miss Lucy wants to know if you ’re ever coming ? ” said a 
servant. 

“ Yes ! ” replied Mrs. Charlton. “ ’T is too bad to keep her 
waiting so ! ” And the next moment she joined her daughter 
in the carriage. 

Meanwhile Charlton, as his wife left him, had groaned out, 
in soliloquy, “ What a devil of a woman ! How different from 
my first wife ! ” Then he sought consolation in the quotations 
of stock. While he read and chuckled, there was a knock. It 
was only Pompilard returned for his Prospectus. As the old 
man was folding it up, the white-gloved fobtman laid a card 
before Charlton. “ Yance ! ” exclaimed the latter : “I’m ac- 
quainted with no such person. Show him up.” 

Yance had donned his citizen’s dress. He wore a blue frock, 
fastened by a single black silk button at the top, a buff vest, 
white pantaloons, and summer shoes. Without a shoulder-strap, 
he looked at once the soldier and the gentleman. Rapidly and 
keenly he took Charlton’s physiognomical measure, then glanced 
at Pompilard. The latter having folded up his Prospectus, was 
turning to quit the room. As he bowed on departing, Charlton 
remarked, “ Good day to you, Mr. Pompilard.” 

“ Did I hear the name Pompilard ? ” inquired Yance. 

“ That is my name, sir,” replied the old man. 

“ Is it he whose wife was a Miss Aylesford ? ” 

“ The same, sir.” 

“ Mr. Pompilard, I have been trying to find you. My car- 
riage is at the door. Will you do me the favor to wait in it 
five minutes for me till I come down ? ” 


A DOMESTIC RECONNOISSANCE. 


461 


“ Certainly, sir.” And Pompilard went out. 

“ Now, Mr. Charlton,” said Vance, “ what I have to say is, 
that I am called Colonel Vance ; that I am recently from New 
Orleans ; that while there it became a part of my official duty 
to look at certain property held in your name, but claimed by 
another party.” 

“ Claimed by a rebel and a traitor, Colonel Vance. I ’m 
delighted to see you, sir. Will you be seated ? ” 

“ No, thank you. Let me propose to you, that, as prelimi- 
nary to other proceedings, I introduce to you to-night certain 
parties who came with me from New Orleans, and whose testi- 
mony may be at once interesting and useful.” 

“I shall be obliged to you for the interview, Colonel Vance.” 

“ It would be proper that your confidential lawyer should 
be present ; for it may be well to cross-question some of the 
witnesses.” 

“ Thank you for the suggestion, Colonel Vance. I shall 
avail myself of it.” 

“ As there will be ladies in the party, I hope your wife and 
daughter will be present.” 

“ I will give them your message.” 

11 Tell them we have a young officer with us who was shot 
through the lungs in battle not long since. Shall we make the 
hour half-past eight ; — place, the Astor House ? ” 

“ That would suit me precisely, Colonel Vance.” 

“ Then I will bid you good day, sir, for the present.” 

Charlton put out his hand, but Vance bowed without seem- 
ing to notice it, and passed out of the house into the carriage. 

“ Mr. Pompilard,” said he, as the carriage moved on, “ are 
you willing to take me on trust, say for the next hour, as a 
gentleman, and comply with my reasonable requests without 
compelling me to explain myself further? Call me, if you 
please, Mr. Vance.” 

“ Truly, Mr. Vance,” replied Pompilard, “ I do not see how 
I risk much in acceding to your proposition. If you were an 
impostor, you would hardly think of fleecing me , for I am 
shorn close already. Besides, you carry the right signet on 
your front. Yes, I will trust you, Mr. Vance.” 

“ Thank you, sir. Your wife is living ? ” 


462 


PECULIAR 


“ I left her alive and well some two hours ago.” 

“ Has she any children of her own ? ” 

“ One, — a daughter, Antoinette. We call her Netty. A 
most extraordinary creature ! An artist, sir ! Paints sea- 
pieces better than Lane, Bradford, or Church himself. A 
girl of decided genius.” 

“ Well, Mr. Pompilard, if your house is not far from here, I 
wish to drive to it at once, and have your wife and daughter do 
us the honor to take seats in this carriage.” 

“ That we can do, Air. Vance. Driver, 27 Lavinia Street ! 
The day is pleasant. They will enjoy a drive. I must make 
you acquainted with my son-in-law, Major Purling. A noble 
fellow, sir I Had an arm shot off at Fair Oaks. Used up, too, 
by fever. Brave as Julius Csesar ! And, like Julius Ccesar, 
writes as well as he fights. He proposes getting up a history 
of the war. Here ’s his Prospectus.” 

Vance looked at it. “ I must n’t be outdone,” said he, “ by 
a lady. Put me down also for thirty copies. Put down Air. 
Winslow and Aladame Volney each for as many more.” 

“ But that is astounding, sir ! ” cried Pompilard. “ A hun- 
dred and twenty copies disposed of already ! The Major will 
jump out of his bed at the news ! ” 

As the carriage crossed the Bowery and bowled into Lavinia 
Street, Pompilard remarked : “ There are some advantages, Air. 
Vance, in being on the East Fiver side. We get a purer sea 
air in summer, sir.” 

At that moment an unfortunate stench of decayed vegetables 
was blown in upon them, by way of comment, and Pompilard 
added : “ You see, sir, we are very particular about removing 
all noxious rubbish. Health, sir, is our first consideration. We 
have the dirt-carts busy all the time.” 

Here the carriage stopped. A modest little place we have 
taken for the summer, Mr. Vance. Small, but convenient and 
retired. Alost worthy and quiet people, our neighbors. Walk 
in, sir.” 

They entered the parlor. “ Take a seat, Mr. Vance. If 
you We a taste for art, let me commend to your examination 
that fine engraving between the windows. Here ’s a new book, 
if you are literary, — Miss Carrie Cameron’s famous noveL 
Amuse yourself.” 


A DOMESTIC RECONNOISSANCE. 


463 


And having handed him “ The Guerilla’s Bride,” Pompilard 
rushed up-stairs. Instantly a great tumult was heard in the 
room over Vance’s head. It was accompanied with poundings, 
jumpings, and exultant shouts. Three hundred and sixty dol- 
lars had been placed on the coverlid beneath which lay the 
wounded Purling. It was the first money his literary efforts 
had ever brought him. The spell was broken. Thenceforth 
the thousands would pour in upon him in an uninterrupted 
flood. Can it be wondered that there was much jubilation 
over the news ? 

Vance was of course introduced to all the inmates, and 
made a partaker in their good spirits. At last Mrs. Pompi- 
lard and Netty were dressed and ready. Vance handed them 
into the carriage. He and Pompilard took the back seat. As 
they drove off they encountered a crowd before an adjoining 
door. It was composed of some of those “ most worthy and 
quiet neighbors” of whom Pompilard had recently spoken. 
They were gathering, amid a Babel of voices, round a cart 
where an ancient virago, Milesian by birth, was berating a 
butcher whom she charged with having sold her a stale leg of 
mutton the week before. 

“ One misses these bustling little scenes in the rural dis- 
tricts,” quoth Pompilard. “ They serve to give color and 
movement, life and sparkle, to our modest neighborhood.” 

“ Mrs. Pompilard,” said Vance, “ we are on our way to the 
Astor House, where I propose to introduce to you a young 
lady. I wish you and your daughter to scrutinize her closely, 
and to tell me if you see in her a likeness to any one you have 
ever known.” 


464 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XL V 


ANOTHER DESCENDANT OF THE CAVALIERS. 


“ Those flashes of marvellous light point to the existence of dormant faculties, which, 
unless God can be supposed to have over-furnished the soul for its appointed field of 
action, seem only to be awaiting more favorable circumstances, to awaken and disclose 
themselves.”— Jo hn James Tayler. 



HILE the carriage is rolling on, and the occupants are 


TV getting better acquainted, let us hurry forward and 
clear the way by a few explanations. 

Vance and his party had now been several days in New 
York, occupying contiguous suites of rooms at the Astor 
House. The ladies consisted of Clara, Madam Volney, and 
Mrs. Ripper (late Mrs. Gentry). Esha was. of course, of the 
party. She had found her long-lost daughter in Hattie, or Mrs. 
Davy, now a widow, whose testimony came in to fortify the 
proofs that seemed accumulating to place Clara’s identity be- 
yond dispute. Hattie joyfully resumed her place as Clara’s 
femme de chcimbre , though the post was also claimed by the 
unyielding Esha. . 

The gentlemen of the party included Mr. Winslow, Mr. 
Semmes, Mr. Ripper, Captain Onslow, Colonel Delaney Hyde, 
and a youth not yet introduced. 

Never had Vance showed his influence in so marked a de- 
gree as in the change he had wrought in Hyde. Detecting in 
the rascal’s affection for a widowed sister the one available spot 
in his character, Vance, like a great moral engineer, had 
mounted on that vantage-ground the guns which were to bat- 
ter down the citadels of ignorance, profligacy, and pride, in 
which all the regenerative capabilities of Hyde’s nature had 
been imprisoned so long. The idea of having that poor toiling 
sister — her who had “ fust taught him to make dirt-pies, down 
thar by the old duck-pond ” — rescued with her children from 
poverty and suffering, placed in a situation of comfort and 
respectability, was so overpowering to the Colonel, that it 


ANOTHER DESCENDANT OF THE CAVALIERS. 465 


enabled Vance to lead him like a child even to the abjuring of 
strong drink and profanity. Cut off from bragging of his Vir- 
ginia birth and his descent from the Cavaliers, — made to see 
the false and senseless nature of the slang which he had been 
taught to expectorate against the “ Yankees,” — Hyde might 
have lost his identity in the mental metamorphosis he was un- 
dergoing, were it not that a most timely substitute presented 
itself as a subject for the expenditure of his surplus gas. 

Vance had collected and arranged a body of proofs for the 
establishment of Clara’s identification as the daughter of Henry 
Berwick ; but, if Colonel Hyde’s memory did not mislead him, 
there was collateral evidence of the highest importance in those 
old letters from Charlton, which might be found in a certain 
trunk in the keeping of the Widow Rusk in Alabama. With 
deep anxiety, therefore, did they await the coming of that 
youthful representative of the Hyde family, Master Delaney 
Hyde Rusk. 

The Colonel stood on the steps of the Astor House from 
early morn till dewy eve, day after day, scrutinizing every boy 
who came along. Clad in a respectable suit of broadcloth, and 
concealing the shorn state of his scalp under a brown wig, he 
did no discredit to the character of Mr. Stetson’s guests. His 
patience was at length rewarded. A boy, travel-soiled and 
dusty, apparently fifteen years old, dressed in a butternut-col- 
ored suit, wearing a small military cap marked C. S. A., and 
bearing a knapsack on his back, suddenly accosted Colonel 
Hyde with the inquiry, “ Does Mr. William C. Vance live 
here ? ” In figure, face, and even the hue of his eyebrows, the 
youth was a miniature repetition of the Colonel himself ; but 
the latter, in his wig and his new suit, was not recognized till 
the exclamation, “ Delaney ! ” broke in astonishment from his 
lips. 

“ What, uncle ? Uncle Delaney ? ” cried the boy ; and the 
two forgot the proprieties, and embraced in the very eyes of 
Broadway. Then the Colonel led the way to his room. 

“ Is this ’ere room yourn, Uncle D’lancy ? An’ is this ’ere 
trunk yourn ? And this ’ere umbrel ? Crikee ! What a fine 
trunk ! And do you and the damned Yankees bet now on the 
same pile, Uncle D’lancy ? ” 


466 


PECULIAR. 


“ Delaney Hyde Rusk,” said the Colonel solemnly, “ stahnd 
up thar afore me. So ! That ’ll do ! Now look me straight 
in the face, and mind what I say.” 

“ Yes, uncle,” said Delaney junior, deeply impressed. 

“ Fust, have yer got them air letters ? ” . 

“Yes, uncle, they’re sewed inter my side-pocket, right 
here.” 

“ Wal an’ good. Now tell me how ’s yer mother an’ all the 
family.” 

“ Mother ’s middlin’ bright now ; but Malviny, she died in a 
fit last March, and Tom, the innocent, he died too ; and Char- 
lotte Ann, she was buried the week afore your letter cum ; and 
mother, she had about gi’n up ; for we had n’t a shinplaster left 
after payin’ for the buryin’, and we thowt as how we should 
have ter starve, sure ; and lame Andrew Jackson and the two 
young ’uns, they wahr lookin’ pretty considerable peakid, I kn 
tell yer, when all at wunst your letter cum with four hunderd 
dollars in it. Crikee ! Did n’t the old woman scream for joy ? 
Did n’t she hug the childern, and cry, and laugh, and take on, 
till we all thowt she was crazy dike ? And did n’t she jounce 
down on her knees, and pray, jest like a minister does ? ” 

“ Did she ? Did she, Delaney ? Tell it over to me again. 
Did she raally pray?” 

“ I reckon she did n’t do nothin’ else.” 

“Try ter think what she said, Delaney. Try ter think. 
It’s important.” 

“ Wal, ’t was all about the Lord Jesus, and Brother D’lancy, 
and not forsakin’ the righteous, and bless the Lord, 0 my soul, 
and the dear angels that was took away, and then about Brother 
D’lancy again, and might the Lord put his everlastin’ arms 
about him, and might the Lord save his soul alive, and all that 
wild sort of talk, yer know. Why, uncle ! Uncle D’lancy ! 
What ’s the matter with yer ? ” 

Yes ! the old sinner had boo-hooed outright ; and then, cov- 
ering his face with his hands, he wept as if he were making up 
for a long period of drought in the lachrymal line. 

We have spoken of the influence which Vance had applied 
to this stony nature. We should have spoken of other influ- 
ences, perhaps more potent still, that had reached it through 


ANOTHER DESCENDANT OF THE CAVALIERS. 467 


Peek. Before the exodus from New Orleans, Peek had intro- 
duced him to certain phenomena which had shaken the Colonel’s 
very soul, by the proofs they gave him of powers transcending 
those usually ascribed to mortals, or admitted as possible by 
science. The proofs were irresistible to his common sense, 
First , That there was a power outside of himself that could 
read, not only his inmost nature, but his individual thoughts, as 
they arose, and this without any aid from him by look, word, 
or act. 

Here was a test in which there was no room left for decep- 
tion. The savans can only explain it by denying it ; and there 
are in America more than three millions of men and women 
who know what the denial amounts to. Given a belief in 
clairvoyance, and that in spirits and immortality follows. The 
motto of the ancient Pagan theists was, “ Si divinatio est, dii 
su?it.” * 

Secondly , Hyde saw heavy physical objects moved about, 
floated in the air, made to perform intelligent offices, and all 
without the intervention of any agencies recognized as mate- 
rial. 

The hard, cold atheism of the man’s heart was smitten, rent, 
and displaced. For the first time, he was made to feel that the 
body’s death is but a process of transition in the soul’s life ; 
that our trials here have reference to a future world ; that 
what we love we become ; that heavenly thoughts must be en- 
tertained and relished even here, if we would not have heaven’s 
occupations a weariness and a perplexity to us hereafter. For 
the first time, the awful consciousness came over him as a 
• reality, that all his acts and thoughts were under the possible 
scrutiny of myriads of spiritual eyes, and, above them all, those 
Supreme eyes in whose sight even the stars are not pure, — 
liow much less, then, man that is a worm ! For the first time, 
he could read the Bible, and catch from its mystic words rich 
gleams of comforting truth. For the first time, he could feel 
the meaning of that abused and uncomprehended word, pardon ; 
and he could dimly see the preciousness of Christ’s revelations 
of the Father’s compassion. 

Return we to the interview between uncle and nephew. 

* If there is divination (clairvoyance), there must be gods (spirits). 


468 


PECULIAR. 


Having wiped his eyes and steadied his voice, the Colonel 
said : “ Delaney Hyde Rusk, yer ’ve got«ter larn some things, 
and unlarn others. Fust of all, you ’re not to swar, never no 
more.” 

“ What, Uncle D’lancy ! Can’t I swar when I grow up ? 
You swar, Uncle D’lancy ! ” 

“ I ’m clean cured of it, nevvy. Ef ever you har me swar 
again, Delaney Hyde Rusk, you jes tell me of ’t, an’ I ’ll put 
myself through a month’s course of hard-tack an’ water.” 

“ Can’t I say hell, Uncle D’lancy, nor damn ? ” 

“ You ’re not ter use them words profanely, nevvy, unless 
you want that air back of yourn colored up with a rope’s end. 
How look me straight in the face, Delaney Hyde Rusk, an’ tell 
me ef yer ever drink sperrits ? ” 

“ Wall, Uncle D’lancy, I promised the old woman. — ” 

“ Stop ! Say you promised mother.” 

“ Wall, I promised mother I would n’t drink, and I have n’t.” 

“ Good ! How, nevvy, yer spoke jest now of the Yankees. 
What do yer mean by Yankees ? ” 

“ I mean, uncle, ev’ry man born in a State whar they hain’t 
no niggers to wallop. Yankees are sneaks and cowards. Can’t 
one Suth’n-born man whip any live Yankees ?” 

“ I reckon not.” 

“ What 1 Hot ef the Suth’n man ’s Virginia-born ?” 
w I reckon not. Delaney Hyde Rusk, that ’s the decoy the 
’ristocrats down South have been humbuggin’ us poor whites 
with tell the common sense is all eat clean out of our brains. 
They stuff us up with that air fool’s brag so we may help ’em 
hold on ter thar niggers. Whar did the Yankees come from ? * 
They earned from England like we did. They speak English 
like we do. Thar ahnees'tors an’ our ahnees'tors war country- 
men. How don’t be sich a lout as ter suppose that ’cause a 
man lives Horth, and hain’t no niggers ter wallop, he must be 
either a sneak or a coward, or what Jeff Davis calls a hyena.” 

“ Ain’t we down South the master race, Uncle D’lancy ? ” 

“ Wall, nevvy, in some respects we air ; in some respects 
not. In dirt an’ vermin, ignorance an’ sloth, our poor folks kn 
giv thar poor folks half the game, an’ beat ’em all holler. In 
brag an’ swagger our rich folks kn beat thars. But I ’ll tell 


ANOTHER DESCENDANT OF THE CAVALIERS. 469 


yer what it is, nevvy : ef, as the slaveholders try to make us 
think, it ’s slavery that makes us the master race, then we 
must be powerful poor cattle to owe it to niggers and not to 
ou’selves that we ’re better nor the Yankees. Now mind what 
I ’m goin’ ter say : the best thing for the hull Suth’n people 
would be to set ev’ry slave free right off at wunst.” 

“ What, Uncle D’lancy ! Make a nigger free as a white 
man ? Can’t I, when I ’m a man, own niggers like gra’f’ther 
Hyde done ? What ’s the use of growin’ up ef I can’t have a 
nigger to wallop, when I want ter, I sh’d like ter know ? ” 

“ Delaney Hyde Rusk, them sentiments must be nipped in 
the bud.” 

The Colonel went to the door and locked it, then cast his 
eyes round the room as if in search of something. The boy 
followed his movements with a curiosity in which alarm began 
to be painfully mingled. Finally, the Colonel pulled a strap 
from his trunk, and, approaching Delaney junior, who was now 
uttering a noise between a whimper and a howl, seized him by 
the nape of the neck, bent him down face foremost on to the 
bed, and administered a succession of smart blows on the most 
exposed part of his person. The boy yelled lustily ; but after 
the punishment was over, he quickly subsided into a subdued 
snuffling. 

“ Thar, Delaney Hyde Rusk ! yer ’ll thahnk me fur that air 
latherin’ all the days of yer life. Ef I ’d a-had somebody to 
do as much for me, forty yars ago, I should n’t have been the 
beast that Slavery brung me up ter be. Never you talk no 
more of keepin’ niggers or wallopin’ niggers. They’ve jest 
as much right ter wallop you as you have ter wallop them. 
Slavery ’s gone up, sure. That game ’s played out. Thank 
the Lord ! Jest you bar in mind, Delaney Hyde Rusk, that 
the Lord made the black man as well as the white, and that ef 
you go fur to throw contempt on the Lord’s work, he ’ll bring 
yer up with a short turn, sure. Will you bar that in mind fur 
the rest of yer life, Delaney Hyde Rusk ? ” 

“ Yes, Uncle D’lancy. I woan’t do nothin’ else.” 

“ An’ ef anybody goes fur to ask yer what you air, jest you 
speak up bright an’ tell him you ’re fust a Union man, an’ then 
an out-an’-out Abolitionist. Speak it out bold as ef you meant 
it. — Ab-o-litionist ! ” 


470 


PECULIAR. 


“ What, uncle ! a d-d-da — ” 

The boy’s utterance subsided into a whimper of expostula- 
tion as he saw the Colonel take up the strap. 

But he was spared a second application. Having given him 
his first lesson in morals and politics, Colonel Hyde made him 
wash his face, and then took him down-stairs and introduced 
him to Vance. The latter received with eagerness the precious 
letters of which the boy was the bearer ; at once opened them, 
and having read them, said to Hyde : “ I would not have failed 
getting these for many thousand dollars. Still there ’s no know- 
ing what trap the lawyers may spring upon us.” 

Turning to Delaney junior, Vance, who had opened all the 
windows when the youth came in, questioned him as to his 
adventures on his journey. The boy showed cleverness in his 
replies. It was a proud day for the elated Hyde when Vance 
said : “ That nephew of yours shall be rewarded. He ’s an 
uncommonly shrewd, observing lad. Now take him down- 
stairs and give him a hot bath. Soak him well ; then scrub 
him well with soap and sand. Let him put on an entire new 
rig, — shirt, stockings, everything. You can buy them while 
he ’s rinsing himself in a second water. Also take him to the 
barber’s and have his hair cut close, combed with a fine-tooth 
comb, and shampooed. Do this, and then bring him up to my 
room to dinner. Here ’s a fifty-dollar bill for you to spend on 
him.” 

Three hours afterwards Delaney junior reappeared, too much 
astonished to recognize his own figure in the glass. Colonel 
Hyde had thenceforth a new and abounding theme for gascon- 
ade in describing the way “ that air bi, sir, trahv’ld the hull 
distance from Montgomery ter New York, goin’ through the 
lines of both armies, sir, an’ bringin’ val’able letters better nor 
a grown man could have did.” 

A dinner at Vance’s private table, with ladies and gentle- 
men present, put the apex to the splendid excitements of the 
day in the minds of both uncle and nephew. 


THE NIGHT COMETH. 


471 


CHAPTER XL VI. 

THE NIGHT COMETH. 


“ Dow swift the shuttle flies that weaves thy shroud ! ” — Young. 


O N the evening of the day of the encounter in Charlton’s 
library, some of the principal persons of our story were 
assembled in one of the private parlors of the Astor House in 
New York. 

Some hours previously, Vance had introduced Clara to her 
nearest relatives, the Pompilards ; but before telling them her 
true name he had asked them to trace a resemblance. Instantly 
Netty had exclaimed : “ Why, mother, it is the face you have 
at home in the portrait of Aunt Leonora.” And Aunt Leonora 
was the grandmother of Clara ! 

Vance then briefly presented his proofs of the relationship. 
Who could resist them ? Pompilard, in a high state of excite- 
ment, put his hands under Clara’s arms, lifted her to a level 
with his lips, and kissed her on both cheeks. His wife, her 
grand-aunt, greeted her not less affectionately ; and in embra- 
cing “ Cousin Netty,” Clara was charmed to find a congenial 
associate. 

Pompilard all at once recollected the gold casket which old 
Toussaint had committed to his charge for Miss Berwick. 
Writing an order, he got Clara to sign it, and then strode out 
of the room, delighted with himself for remembering the trust. 
Half an hour afterwards he returned and presented to his 
grand-niece the beautiful jewel-box, the gift of her father’s 
step-mother, Mrs. Charlton. Clara received it with emotion, 
and divesting it of the cotton-wool in which it had been kept 
wrapped and untouched so many years, she unlocked it, and 
drew forth this letter : — 

“ My dear little Granddaughter : This comes to you 
from one to whom ypu seem nearer than any other she leaves 


472 


PECULIAR. 


behind. She wishes she could make you wise through her 
experience. Since her heart is full of it, let her speak it. In 
that event, so important to your happiness, your marriage, may 
you be warned by her example, and neither let your affections 
blind your reason, nor your reason underrate the value of the 
affections. Be sure not only that you love, but that you are 
loved. Choose cautiously, my dear child, if you choose at all ; 
and may your choice be so felicitous that it will serve for the 
next world as well as this. E. B. C.” 

The Pompilards remained of course to dinner ; and then 
to the expected interview of the evening. They were intro- 
duced to the highly-dressed bride, Mrs. Ripper, formerly 
Clara’s teacher ; also to the quadroon lady, Madame Volney. 
And then the gentlemen — Captain Onslow, Messrs. Winslow, 
Semmes, and Ripper, and last, not least, Colonel Delaney 
Hyde and his nephew — were all severally and formally pre- 
sented to the Pompilards. 

“ Does it appear from Charlton’s letters to Hyde that Charl- 
ton knew of Hyde’s villany in kidnapping the child?” asked 
Mr. Semmes of Vance. 

“No, Charlton was unquestionably ignorant, and is so to 
this day, of the fact that the true heir survives. All that he 
expected Hyde to do was to so shape his testimony as to make 
it appear that the child died after the mother and before the 
father. On this nice point all Charlton’s chances hung. And 
the letters are of the highest importance in showing that it was 
intimated by the writer to Hyde, that, in case his testimony 
should turn out to be of a certain nature, he, Hyde, besides 
having his and Quattles’s expenses to New York all paid, 
should receive a thousand dollars.” 

“ That is certainly a tremendous point against Charlton. Is 
it possible that Hyde did not see that he held a rod over Charl- 
ton in those letters ? ” 

“ Both he and Quattles appear to have been very shallow 
villains. Probably they did not comprehend the legal points 
at issue, and never realized the vital importance of their tes- 
timony.” 

“ Let me suggest,” said Semmes, “ the importance of having 
Charlton recognize Hyde in the presence of witnesses.” 


THE NIGHT COMETH. 


473 


“ Yes, I had thought of that, and arranged for it.” 

Here there was a stir in the little unoccupied anteroom 
adjoining. The Charltons and Charlton’s lawyer, Mr. Det- 
ritch, had arrived. The ladies were removing their bon- 
nets and shawls. Hyde drew near to Vance, and the latter 
threw open the door. Charlton entered first. The prospect 
of recovering his New Orleans property had put him in the 
most gracious of humors. His dyed hair, his white, w T ell- 
starched vest, his glossy black dress-coat and pantaloons, 
showed that his personal appearance was receiving more than 
usual attention. He would have been called a handsome man 
by those who did not look deep as Lavater. 

After saluting Vance, Charlton started on recognizing the 
gaunt figure of Delaney Hyde. Concluding at once that the 
Colonel had come as a friend, Charlton exclaimed : “ What ! 
My old friend, Colonel Delaney Hyde ? Is it possible ? ” 

And there was a vehement shaking of hands between them. 

Detritch and the ladies having entered, all the parties were 
formally introduced to one another. The mention of Miss 
Berwick’s name excited no surprise on the part of any one. 

The company at once disposed themselves in separate groups 
for conversation. Captain Onslow gave his arm to Miss Charl- 
ton, and they strolled through the room to talk of ambulances, 
sanitary commissions, hospitals, and bullets through the lungs. 
Pompilard, who declared he felt only eighteen years old while 
looking at his niece, divided his delightful attentions between 
Madame Volney and Mrs. Ripper. Clara invited Colonel 
Hyde to take a seat near her, and gave him such comfort as 
might best confirm him in the good path he was treading. 
Hyde junior looked at the war pictures in Harper’s Weekly. 
Winslow and Mrs. Charlton found they had met five years be- 
fore at Saratoga, and were soon deep in their recollections. 
Semmes and Detritch skirmished like two old roosters, each 
afraid of the other. Ripper made himself agreeable to Airs. 
Pompilard and Netty, by talking of paintings, of which he 
knew something, having sold them at auction. Vance took 
soundings of Charlton’s character, and found that rumor, for 
once, had not been unjust in her disparagement. The man’s 
heart, what there was of it, was in his iron safe with his cou- 
pons and his certificates of deposit. 


474 


PECULIAR. 


Suddenly Vance went to the piano, and, striking some of 
the loud keys, attracted the attention of the company, and then 
begged them to be silent while he made a few remarks. The 
hum of conversation was instantly hushed. 

“ We are assembled, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “ on 
business . in which Mr. Charlton here present is deeply inter- 
ested.” 

Mr. Charlton, who occupied an arm-chair, and had Detritch 
on his right, bowed his acknowledgments. 

“If,” continued Vance, “I have not communicated privately 
to Mr. Charlton, or his respectable counsel, all the startling 
and important facts bearing on the case, I hope they will 
understand that it was not through any failure of respect for 
them, and especially for Mrs. and Miss Charlton, but simply 
because I have thought it right to choose the course which 
seemed to me the most proper in serving the cause of justice 
and of the party whose interests I represent.” 

Charlton and Detritch looked at each other inquiringly, 
and the look said, “What is he driving at?” 

The amiable bride (Mrs. Ripper) touched Pompilard coquet- 
tishly with her fan, and, pointing to Charlton, whispered, “ O, 
won’t he be come up with?” 

“No innocent man,” continued Vance, “ will think it ever 
untimely to be told that he is holding what does not belong to 
him ; that he has it in his power to rectify a great wrong ; to 
make just restitution. On the table here under my hand are 
certain documents. This which I hold up is a certified printed 
copy of the great Trial, by the issue of which Mr. Charlton, 
here present, came into possession of upwards of a million of 
dollars, derived from the estate of the brother of one of the 
ladies now before me. It appears from the judge’s printed 
charge (see page 127) on the Trial, that the essential testimony 
in the case was that given by one Delaney Hyde and one 
Leonidas Quattles. With the former, Mr. Charlton has here 
renewed his acquaintance. Mr. Quattles died some months 
since, but we here have his deposition, duly attested, taken just 
before his death.” 

“What has all this to do with my property in New Or- 
leans ? ” exclaimed Charlton, thoroughly mystified. 


THE NIGHT COMETH. 


475 


“ Be patient, sir, and you will see. The verdict, ladies and 
gentlemen, turned upon the question whether, on the occasion 
of the explosion of the Pontiac, the child, Clara, or her father, 
Henry Berwick, died first. The testimony of Messrs. Hyde 
and Quattles was to the effect that the child died first. But it 
now appears that the father died — ” 

“ A lie and a trick ! ” shouted Charlton, starting up with fea- 
tures pale and convulsed at ortce with terror and with rage. 
“A trick for extorting money. Any simpleton might see 
through it. Have we been brought here to be insulted, sir? 
You shall be indicted for a conspiracy. ’T is a case for the 
grand jury, — eh, Detritch ? ” 

“ My advice to you, Mr. Charlton,” said Detritch, “ is to turn 
this gentleman over to me, and to refuse to listen yourself to 
anything further he may have to say.” 

In this advice Charlton snuffed, as he thought, the bad odor 
of a fee, and he determined not to be guided by it. Laughing 
scornfully, he said, resuming his seat : “ Let the gentleman play 
out his farce. He hopes to show, does he, that the child died 
after the father ! ” 

“ No, ladies and gentleman,” said Yance, crossing the room, 
taking Clara by the hand, and leading her forth, “ what I have 
to show is, that she did n’t die at all, and that Clara Aylesford 
Berwick now stands before you.” 

Charlton rose half-way from his chair, the arms of which he 
grasped as if to keep himself from sinking. His features were 
ghastly in their expression of mingled amazement and indigna- 
tion, coupled with a horrible misgiving of the truth of the dis- 
closure, to which Vance’s assured manner and the affirmative 
presence of Colonel Hyde gave their dreadful support. Charl- 
ton struggled to speak, but failed, and sank back in his chair, 
while Detritch, after having tried to compose his client, rose 
and said : “ In my legal capacity I must protest against this 
most irregular and insidious proceeding, intended as it obviously 
is to throw my client and myself off our guard, and to produce 
an alarm which may be used to our disadvantage.” 

“ Sir,” replied Yance, “ you entirely misapprehend my object. 
It is not to your fears, but to your manhood and your sense of 
justice that I have thought it right to make my first appeal. I 


476 


PECULIAR. 


propose to prove to you by facts, which no sane man can resist, 
that the young lady whose hand I hold is the veritable Miss 
Berwick, to whom her mother’s estate belonged, and to whom 
it must now be restored, with interest.” 

“ With interest ! Ha, ha, ha ! ” cried Charlton, with a fright- 
ful attempt at a merriment which his pale cheeks belied. 

“ There will be time,” continued Vance, “for the scrutiny of 
the law hereafter. I court it to the fullest extent. But I have 
thought it due to Mr. Charlton, to give him the opportunity to 
show his disposition to right a great wrong, in the event of my 
proving, as I can and will, that this lady is the person I pro- 
claim her to be, the veritable Miss Berwick.” 

Moved by that same infatuation which compels a giddy man 
to look over the precipice which is luring him to jump, Charl- 
ton, with a deplorable affectation of composure, wiped the per- 
spiration from his brow, and said: “Well, sir, bring on these 
proofs that you pretend are so irresistible. I think we can 
afford to hear them, — eh, Detritch ? ” 

“ First,” said Vance, “ I produce the confession of Hyde, 
here present, and of Quattles, deceased, that the infant child 
of Mr. Berwick was saved by them from the wreck of the Pon- 
tiac, taken to New Orleans, and sold at auction as a slave. 
The auctioneer, Mr. Richard Ripper, is here present, and will 
testify that he sold the child to Carberry Ratcliff, whose late 
attorney, T. J. Semmes, Esq., is here present, and can identify 
Miss Berwick as the child bought, according to Ratcliff’s own 
admission, from the said Ripper. Then we have the testimony 
of Mrs. Ripper, lately Mrs. Gentry, by whom the child was 
brought up, and of Esha, her housemaid, both of whom are 
now in this house. We have further strong collateral testi- 
mony from Hattie Davy, now in this house, the nurse who had 
the child in charge at the time of the accident, and who identi- 
fies her by the marks on her person, especially by her different 
colored eyes, — a mark which I also can corroborate. We 
have articles of clothing and jewels bearing the child’s initials, 
to the reception and keeping of which Mrs. Ripper and Esha 
will testify, and which, when unsealed, will no doubt be sworn 
to by Mrs. Davy as having belonged to the child at the time of 
the explosion.” 


THE NIGHT COMETH. 


477 


“Well, sir,” said Mr. Detritch, with a sarcastic smile, “I 
think Brother Semmes will admit that all this doesn’t make 
out a case. Unless you can bring some proof (which I know 
you cannot) of improper influences being applied by my client 
to induce his chief witnesses to give the testimony they did, 
you can make little headway in a court of law against a party 
who is fortified in what he holds by more than fourteen years 
of possession.” 

“ Even on this point, sir,” replied Vance, “ we are not weak. 
Here are five original letters, with their envelopes, postage- 
marks, &c., all complete, from Mr. Charlton to Colonel Delaney 
Hyde, offering him and his accomplice their expenses and a 
thousand dollars if they will come on to New York and testify 
in a certain way. Here also are letters showing that, in the 
case of a colored woman named Jacobs, decoyed from Mon- 
treal back into slavery, the writer conducted himself in a 
manner which will afford corroborative proof that he was capa- 
ble of doing what these other letters show that he did or at- 
tempted.” 

As Vance spoke, he held one of the letters so that Charlton 
could read it. The latter, while affecting not to look, read 
enough to be made aware of its purport. His fingers worked 
so to clutch it, that Detritch pulled him by the coat ; and then 
Charlton, starting* up, exclaimed : “ I ’ll not stay here another 
moment to be insulted. This is a conspiracy to swindle. Come 
along, Detritch. Come, Mrs. Charlton and Lucy.” 

He passed out. Detritch offered his arm to Mrs. Charlton. 
She declined it, and he left the room. There was an interval 
of silence. Every one felt sympathy for the two ladies. Mrs. 
Charlton approached Vance, and said, “ Will you allow me to 
examine those letters ? ” 

“ Certainly, madam,” he replied. 

She took them one by one, scrutinized the handwriting, read 
them carefully, and returned them to Vance. She then asked 
the privilege of a private conference with Hyde, and the Colo- 
nel accompanied her into the anteroom. This interview was 
followed by one, first with Mrs. Ripper, then with Mr. Winslow, 
then with Esha and Mrs. Davy, and finally with Clara. Dur- 
ing the day Pompilard had sent home for a photograph-book 


478 


PECULIAR. 


containing likenesses of Clara’s father, mother, and maternal 
grandmother. These were placed in Mrs. Charlton’s hands. A 
glance satisfied her of the family resemblance to the supposed 
child. 

Re-entering the parlor Mrs. Charlton said : “ Friends, there 
is no escape that I can see from the proofs you offer that this 
young lady is indeed Clara Aylesford Berwick. Be sure it 
will not be my fault if she is not at once instated in her rights. 
I bid you all good evening.” 

And then, escorted by Captain Onslow, she and her daughter 
took their leave, and the company broke up. 

Charlton, impatient, had quitted the hotel with Detritch and 
sent back the carriage. They were closeted in the library 
when Mrs. Charlton and Lucy returned. The unloving and 
unloved wife, but tender mother, kissed her daughter for good- 
night and retired to her own sleeping-room. She undressed 
and went to bed ; but not being able to sleep, rose, put on a light 
robe de chambre , and sat down to . read. About two o’clock in 
the morning she heard the front door close and a carriage drive 
off. Detritch had then gone at last ! 

Charlton’s sleeping-room was on the other side of the entry- 
way opposite to his wife’s. She threw open her door to hear 
him when he should come up to bed. She waited anxiously a 
full hour. She began to grow nervous. Toid as her heart 
was of affection for her husband, something like pity crept in 
as she recalled his look of anguish and alarm at Vance’s dis- 
closures. Ah ! is it not sad when one has to despise while one 
pities ! “ Shall I not go, and try to cheer him ? ” she asked 

herself. Hopeless task ! What cheer could she give unless 
she went with a lie, telling him that Vance’s startling revela- 
tion was all a trick! 

The laggard moments crept on. Though the gas was put up 
bright and flaring, she could not have so shivered with a name- 
less horror if she had been alone in some charnel-house, lighted 
only by pale, phosphoric gleams from dead men’s bones. 

But why did not Charlton come up ? 

The wind, which had been rising, blew back a blind, and 
swept with a mournful whistle through the trees in the area. 
Then it throbbed at the casement like a living heart that had 
something to reveal 


THE NIGHT COMETH. 


479 


Why does he not *come up ? 

Why not go down and see ? 

Though the entry-ways and the stairs were lighted, it seemed 
a frightful undertaking to traverse them as far as the library. 
Still she would do it. She darted out, placed her hand on the 
broad black-walnut balustrade, and stepped slowly down, — 
down, — down the broad, low, thickly carpeted stairs. 

At last she stood on one of the spacious square landings. 

What terrible silence ! Not even the rattle of an early 
milk-cart through the streets ! Heavenly Powers ! Why this 
unaccountable pressure, as of some horrid incubus, upon her 
mind, so that every thought as it wandered, try as she might to 
control it, would stop short at a tomb ? She recoiled. She 
drew back a step or two up, — up the stairs. And then, at 
that very moment, there was a dull, smothered, explosive sound 
which smote like a hand on her heart. She sank powerless on 
the stairs, and sat there for some minutes, gasping, horror- 
stricken, helpless. 

Then rallying her strength she rushed up three flights to the 
room of Fletcher, the man-servant, and bade him dress quickly 
and come to her. He obeyed, and the two descended to the 
library. 

Through the glass window of the door the gas shone bright- 
ly. Fletcher entered first ; and his cry of alarm told the 
whole tragic tale. Mrs. Charlton followed, gave one look, and 
fell senseless on the floor. 

Leaning back in his arm-chair, — his head erect, — his eye3 
open and staring, — sat Charlton. On his white vest a crim- 
son stain was beginning to spread and spread, and, higher up, 
the cloth was blackened as if by fire. The vase-like ornament 
which had attracted Pompilard’s attention on the library table 
had been drawn forth from its socket, and the pistol it concealed 
having been discharged, it lay on the floor, while Charlton’s 
right hand, as it hung over the arm of the chair, pointed to the 
deadly weapon as if in mute accusation of its instrumentality. 


480 


PECULIAR. 


CHAPTER XL VII 


AN AUTUMNAL VISIT. 


“ Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my heart ? 

Thy hopes have gone before : from all things here 

They have departed ; thou shouldst now depart.” — Shelley. 


HE defunct having left no will, administrators of his estate 



A were appointed. These deemed it proper to be guided 
by the wishes of the widow and the daughter, notwithstanding 
the latter was still a minor. Those wishes were, that the iden- 
tification of Miss Berwick, conclusive as it was, should be 
frankly admitted, and her property, with its accumulated inter- 
est, restored to her without a contest. 

There was a friendly hearing in chambers, before the probate 
and other judges. The witnesses were all carefully examined ; 
the contents of the sealed package in the little trunk were iden- 
tified ; and at last, in accordance with high legal and judicial 
approval, the vast estate, constituting nearly two-thirds of the 
amount left by Charlton, was transferred to trustees to be held 
till Clara should be of age. And thus finally did Vance carry 
his point, and establish the rights of the orphan of the Pontiac. 

It was on a warm, pleasant day in the last week of Septem- 
ber, 1862, that he called to take leave of her. 

Little more than an hour’s drive beyond the Central Park 
brought him to a private avenue, at the stately gate of which 
he found children playing. One of these was a cripple, who, 
as he darted round on his little crutch, chasing or being chased, 
seemed the embodiment of Joy exercising under difficulties. 
His name was Andrew Rusk. An old colored woman who was 
carrying a basket of fruit to some invalid in the neighborhood, 
stopped and begged Andrew not to break his neck. Vance, rec- 
ognizing Eslia, asked if Clara was at home. 

“ Yes, Massa Vance ; she ’ll be powerful glad to see yer.” 

While Vance is waiting in a large and lofty drawing-room 


AN AUTUMNAL VISIT. 


481 


for her appearance, let us review some of the incidents that 
have transpired since we encountered her last. 

One of Clara’s first acts, on being put in partial possession 
of her ancestral estate, had been to present her aunt Pompilard 
with a furnished house, retaining for herself the freedom of a 
few rooms. The house stood on a broad, picturesque semi- 
circle of rocky table-land, that protruded like a huge bracket 
from a pleasant declivity, partly wooded, in view of the Pali- 
sades of the Hudson. The grounds included acres enough to 
satisfy the most aspiring member of the Horticultural Society. 
The house, also, was sufficiently spacious, not only for present, 
but for prospective grandchildren of the Pompilard stock. To 
the young Iretons and Purlings it was a blessed change from 
Lavinia Street to this new place. 

Amid these sylvan scenes, — these green declivities and 
dimpling hollows, — these gardens beautiful, and groves and 
orchards, — the wounded Major and aspiring author, Cecil 
Purling, grew rapidly convalescent. The moment it was un- 
derstood in fashionable circles that, through Clara’s access to 
fortune, he stood no longer in need of help, subscribers to his 
history poured in not merely by dozens, but by hundreds. He 
soon had confirmation made doubly sure that he should have 
the glorious privilege of being independent through his own 
unaided efforts. This time there is no danger that he will ruin 
a publisher. The work proceeds. On your library shelf, O 
friendly reader, please leave a vacant space for six full-sized 
duodecimos ! 

Pompilard’s first great dinner, on being settled in his new 
home, was given in honor of the Maloneys. In reply to the 
written invitation, Maloney wrote, “The beggarly Irish tailor 
accepts for himself and family.” On entering the house, he 
asked a private interview with Pompilard, and thereupon bul- 
lied him so far, that the old man signed a solemn pledge abjur- 
ing Wall Street, and all financial operations of a speculative 
character thenceforth forever. 

The dinner was graced by the presence of Mr. and Mrs. 
Pipper, both of them now furious Abolitionists, and proud of 
the name. The lady was at last emphatically of the opinion 
that “ Slavery will be come up with.” 

21 


EE 


482 


PECULIAR. 


Clara had Esha and Hattie to wait on her, though rather in 
the capacity of friends than of servants. Having got from 
Mrs. Ripper a careful estimate of the amount paid by Ratcliff 
for the support and education of his putative slave, Clara had 
it repaid with interest. The money came to him most accept- 
ably. His large investments in slaves had ruined him. His 
“maid-servants and man-servants”* had flocked to the old flag 
and found freedom. A piteous communication from him ap- 
peared on the occasion in the Richmond Whig. We quote 
from it a single passage. 

“ What contributed most to my mortification was, that in my 
whole gang of slaves, among whom there were any amount of 
Aarons, Abrahams, Isaacs, and Jacobs, there was not one Ab- 
diel, — not one remained loyal to the Rebel.” 

The philosophical editor, in his comments, endeavored to 
shield his beloved slavery from inferential prejudice, and said : 

“ The escaped slave is ungrateful ; therefore, slavery is 
wrong! Children are often ungrateful; does it follow that 
the relation of parent and child is wrong?” f 

Could even Mr. Carlyle have put it more cogently ? 

The money received by Clara from Mrs. Ratcliff’s private 
estate was all appropriated to the establishment of an institu- 
tion in New Orleans for the education of the children of freed 
slaves. To this fund Madame Volney not only added from 
her own legacy, but she went back to New Orleans to superin- 
tend the initiation of the humane and important enterprise. 

“Into each life some rain must fall.” The day after the 
dinner to the Maloneys intelligence came of the death of 
Captain Ireton. He had been hung by the fierce slaveocracy 
at Richmond as a spy. It was asserted that he had joined the 
Rebel Engineer Corps, at Island Number Ten, to obtain infor- 
mation for the United States. However this may have been, 
it is certain he was not captured in the capacity of a spy ; and 
every one acquainted with the usages of civilized warfare will 
recognize the atrocity of hanging a man on the ground that he 
had formerly acted as a spy. The Richmond papers palliated 

* See Mr. Jefferson Davis’s proclamation for a fast, March, 1863. 

f These quotations are genuine, as many newspaper readers will recollect. 


AN AUTUMNAL VISIT. 


483 


tlie murder by saying Ireton had “ confessed himself to be a 
spy.” As if any judicial tribunal would hang a man on his 
own confession ! “ Would you make me bear testimony 

against myself?” said Joan of Arc to her judges. 

Much to the disgust of the pro-slavery leaders, who had 
counted on a display of that cowardice which they had taught 
the Southern people to regard as inseparable from Yankee 
blood, Ireton met his death cheerily, as a bridegroom would go 
forth to take the hand of his beloved.* It reminded them un- 
pleasantly of old John Brown. 

“ Whether on the gallows high 
Or in the battle’s van, 

The fittest place for man to die 
Is where he dies for man.” 

The news of Ireton’s death was mentioned by Captain On- 
slow while making a morning call on Miss Charlton. Her 
mother had dressed herself to drive out on some visits of char- 
ity. As she was passing through the hall to her carriage, Lucy 
called her into the drawing-room and communicated the report. 
The widow turned deadly pale, and left the room without 
speaking. She gave up her drive for that day, and commis- 
sioned Lucy to fulfil the beneficent errands she had planned. 
Captain Onslow begged so hard to be permitted to accompany 
Lucy, that, after a brief consultation between mother and 
daughter, consent was given. 

Thus are Nature and Human Life ever offering their tragic 
contrasts ! Here the withered leaf ; and there, under the de- 
caying mould, the green germ ! Here Grief, finding its home 
in the stricken heart ; and there thou, O Hope, with eyes so 
fair ! 

* The case seems to have been precisely parallel to that of Spencer Kel- 
logg Brown, hung in Richmond, September 25th, 1863, as a spy. On the 
18th of that month, Brown told the Rev. William G. Scandlin of Massachu- 
setts (see the latter’s published letter), that they had kept him there in pris- 
on “ until all Ids evidence had been sent away , allowed him but fifteen hours to 
prepare for his defence , and denied him the privilege of counsel .” Brown was 
captured by guerillas, not while he was acting as a spy, but while returning 
from destroying a rebel ferry-boat near Port Hudson, which he had done un- 
der the order of Captain Porter. The hanging of this man was as shame- 
less a murder as was ever perpetrated by Thugs. But Slavery, disappointed 
in the hanging of Captains Sawyer and Flynn, was yelling lustily for a Yan- 
kee to hang; and Jeff Davis was not man enough to say “ No.” 


484 


PECULIAR. 


Colonel Delaney Hyde speedily had an opportunity of show- 
ing the sincerity of his conversion, political and moral. He 
went into the fight at South Mountain, and was by the side of 
General Reno when that loyal and noble officer (Virginia- 
born) fell mortally wounded. For gallant conduct on that 
occasion Hyde was put on General Mansfield’s staff, and saw 
him, too, fall, three days after Reno, in the great fight at An- 
tietam. On this occasion Hyde lost a leg, but had the satis- 
faction of seeing his nephew, Delaney junior, come out 
unscathed, and with the promise of promotion for gallantry 
in carrying the colors of the regiment after three successive 
bearers had been shot dead. 

Hyde was presented with a wooden leg, of which he was 
quite proud. But the great event of his life was the establish- 
ment of his sister, the Widow Rusk, with her children, in a 
comfortable cottage on the outskirts of Pompjlard’s grounds, 
where the family were well provided for by Clara. Here on 
the piazza, looking out on the river, the Colonel played with 
the children, watched the boats, and read the newspapers. 
Perhaps one of the profoundest of his emotions was experi- 
enced the day he saw in one of the pictorial papers a picture 
of Delaney junior, bearing a flag riddled by bullets. But the 
Colonel’s heart felt a redoubled thrill when he read the follow- 
ing paragraph : — 

“ This young and gallant color-bearer is, we learn, a descend- 
ant of an illustrious Virginia family, his ancestor, Delaney 
Hyde, having come over with the first settlers. Nobly has the 
youth adhered to the traditions of the Washingtons and the 
Madisons. His uncle, the brave Colonel Hyde, was one of 
the severely wounded in the late battle.” 

The Colonel did not faint, but he came nearer to it than 
ever before in his life. 

Can the Ethiopian change his skin ? It has generally been 
thought not. But there was certainly an element of grace in 
Hyde which now promised to bleach the whole moral com- 
plexion of the man ; and that element, though but as a grain 
of mustard-seed, was love for his sister and her offspring. 

Mr. Semmes was glad to receive, as the recompense for his 
services, the exemption of certain property from confiscation. 


AN AUTUMNAL VISIT. 


485 


At their parting interview Yance ingenuously told him he con- 
sidered him a scoundrel. Semmes did n’t see it in that light, 
and entered into a long argument to prove that he had done no 
wrong. Vance listened patiently, and said in reply, “Do you 
perceive an ill odor of dead rats in the wall?” Settimes 
snuffed, and then answered, “ Indeed I don’t perceive any bad 
i smell.” “ I ofo,” said Yance ; “ good by, sir ! ” And that was 
the end of their acquaintance. 

But it is in the track of Yance and Clara that we promised 
j to conduct the reader. Clara had proposed a ramble over the 
grounds. Never had she appeared so radiant in Vance’s eyes. 
It was not her dress, for that was rather plain, though perfect 
in its adaptedness to the season and the scene. It was not 
: that jaunty little hat, hiding not too much of her soft, thick 
' hair. But the climate of her ancestral North seemed to have 
added a new sparkle and gloss to her beauty. And then the 
pleasure of seeing Yance showed itself so unreservedly in her 
face ! 

( They strolled through the well-appointed garden, and Yance 
was glad to see that Clara had a genuine love of flowers and 
fruits, and could name all the varieties, distinguishing with 
quick perception the slightest differences of form and hue. In 
the summer-house, overlooking the majestic river, and sur- 
rounded, though not»too much shaded, by birches, oaks, and 
pines, indigenous to the soil, they found Miss Netty Pompilard 
engaged in sketching. She ran away as they approached, pre- 
suming, like a sensible young person, that she could be spared. 
Even the mocking-bird, Clara’s old friend Dainty, who pecked 
at a peach in his cage, seemed to understand that his noisy 


voluntaries must now be hushed. 

The promenaders sat down on a rustic bench. 

“ Well, Clara,” said Yance, “ I have heard to-day great and 
inspiring news. It almost made me feel as if I could afford to 
stop short in my work, and to be content, should I, like Moses, 
be suffered only to see the promised land witli my eyes, but not 
to ‘ go over thither.’ ” 

“ To what do you allude ? ” 

“ To-morrow President Lincoln issues a proclamation of 
prospective emancipation to the slaves of the Rebel States.” 


486 


PECULIAR. 


u Good ! ” cried Clara, giving him her hand for a grasp of 
congratulation. 

“ But I foresee,” said Vance, “ that there is much yet to he 
done before it can be effective, and I ’ve come to bid you a 
long, perhaps a last farewell.” 

Clara said not a word, but ran out of the summer-house 
below the bank into a little thicket that hid her entirely from 
view. Here she caught at the white trunk of a birch, and 
leaning her forehead against it, wept passionately for some 
time. Vance sat wondering at her disappearance. Ten min- 
utes passed, and she did not return. He rose to seek her, 
when suddenly he saw her climbing leisurely up the bank, a 
few wild-flowers in her hand. There was no vestige of emo- 
tion in her face. 

a You wondered at my quitting you so abruptly,” she said. 

“ I thought of some fringed gentians in bloom below there, and 1 
I ran to gather them for you. Are they not of a lovely blue ? ” ] 

“ Thank you,” said Vance, not wholly deceived by her calm, \ 
assured manner. 

“ So you really mean to leave us ? ” she said, smiling and 
looking him full in the face. “ I ’m very sorry for it.” 

“ So am I, Clara, for it would be very delightful to settle ;! 
down amid scenes like these and lead a life of meditative leis- • 
ure. But not yet can I hope for my disqjiarge. My country j 
needs every able-bodied son. I must do what I best can to ] 
serve her. But first let me give you a few words of advice. I 
Your Trustees tell me you have been spending money at such \ 
a fearful rate, that they have been compelled to refuse your 
calls. To this you object. Let me beg you to asquiesce with ' 
cheerfulness. They are gentlemen, liberal and patriotic. They ] 
have consented to your giving your aunt this splendid estate 
and the means of supporting it. They have allowed you to ’ 
bestow portentous sums in charity, and for the relief of sick 
and wounded soldiers. I hear, too, that Miss Tremaine has 
sent to you for aid.” 

“ Yes ; her mother is dead, and her father has failed. They 
are quite poor.” 

“ So you ’ve sent her a couple of thousand dollars. The first 
pauper you shall meet will have as much claim on you as she. 


AN AUTUMNAL VISIT. 


487 


Would I check that divine propensity of your nature, — the 
desire to bestow ? O never, never ! Far from it ! Cherish 
it, my dear child. Believe in it. Find your constant delight 
in it. But be reasonable. Consider your own future. A little 
computation will show you that, at the present rate, it will not 
take you ten years to get rid of all your money. You will 
soon have suitors in plenty. Indeed, I hear that some very 
formidable ones are already making reconnoissances, although 
they find to their despair that the porter forbids them entrance 
unless they come on crutches ; and I hear you send word to 
your serenaders, to take their music to the banks of the Poto- 
mac. But your time will soon come, Clara. You will be 
married. (Please not pull that' fringed gentian to pieces in 
that barbarous way !) You will have your own tasteful, mu- 
nificent, and hospitable home. Reserve to yourself the power 
to make it all that, and do not be wise too late.” 

“ And is there nothing I can do, Mr. Yance, to let you see I 
have some little gratitude for all that you have done for me ? ” 

“ Ah ! I shall quote Rochefoucault against you, if you say 
that. ‘ Too great eagerness to requite an obligation is a species 
of ingratitude.’ All that I ’ve done is but a partial repayment 
of the debt I owed your mother’s father ; for I o\fed him my 
life. Besides, you pay me every time you help the brave fellow 
whose wound or whose malady was got in risking all for country 
and for justice.” 

“ We must think of each other often,” sighed Clara. 

“ That we cannot fail to do,” said Yance. “ There are inci- 
dents in our past that will compel a frequent interchange of 
remembrances ; and to me they will be very dear. Besides, 
from every soul of a good man or woman, with whom I have 
ever been brought in communication (either by visible pres- 
ence or through letters or books), I unwind a subtile filament 
which keeps us united, and never fails. I meet one whose 
society I would court, but cannot, — we part, — one thinks of 
the other, ‘ How indifferent he or she seemed V or ‘ Why did 
we not grow more intimate ? ’ And yet a friendship that shall 
outlast the sun may have been unconsciously formed.” 

“ You must write me,” said Clara. 

u I ’m a poor correspondent,” replied Yance ; “ but I shall 


488 


PECULIAR. 


obey. And now my watch tells me I must go. I start in a 
few hours for Washington.” 

They strolled back to the house. Vance took leave of all 
the inmates, not forgetting Esha. He went to Hyde’s cottage, 
and had an affectionate parting with that worthy ; and then 
drove to a curve in the road where Clara stood waiting solitary 
to exchange the final farewell. 

It was on an avenue through the primeval forest, having on 
either side a strip of greensward edged by pine-trees, odorous 
and thick, which had carpeted the ground here and there with 
their leafy needles of the last years growth, now brown and dry. 

The mild, post-equinoctial sunshine was flooding the middle 
of the road, but Clara stood on the sward in the shade. Vance 
dismounted from his carriage and drew near. All Clara’s 
beauty seemed to culminate for that trial. A smile adorably 
tender lighted up her features. Vance felt that he was treading 
on enchanted ground, and that the atmosphere swam with the 
rose-hues of young romance. The gates of Paradise seemed 
opening, while a Peri, with hand extended, offered to be his 
guide. Youth and glad Desire rushed back into that inner 
chamber of his heart sacred to a love ineffably precious. 

Clara put out her hand ; but why was it that this time it was 
her right hand, when heretofore, ever since her rescue in New 
Orleans, she had always given the left ? 

Rather high up on the wrist of the right was a bracelet ; a 
bracelet of that soft, fine hair familiar to Vance. He recog- 
nized it now, and the tears threatened to overflow. Lifting the 
wrist to his lips he kissed it, and then, with a “ God keep 
you ! ” entered the carriage, and was whirled away. 

“ It was the bracelet, not the wrist, he kissed,” sighed Clara. 


TIME DISCOVERS AND COVERS. 


489 


CHAPTER XL VIII 


TIME DISCOVERS AND COVERS. 


“ Crito. How and where shall we bury you ? 

“ Socrates. Bury me in any way you please, if you can catch me to bury. Crito ob- 
stinately thinks, my friends, I am that which he shall shortly behold dead. Say rather, 
Crito, — say if you love me, ‘ Where shall I bury your body ’ ; and I will answer you, 
‘ Bury it in any manner and in any place you please.’ ” — Plato. 



N rolled the months, nor slackened their speed because 


yj of the sufferings and the sighings with which they went 
freighted. Almost every day brought its battle or its skirmish. 
Almost every day men, — sometimes many hundreds, — would 
be shot dead, or be wounded and borne away in ambulances or 
on stretchers, not grudging the sacrifices they had made. 

O precious blood, not vainly shed ! 0 bereaved hearts, not 

unprofitably stricken ! Do not doubt there shall be compen- 
sation. Do not doubt that every smallest effort, though seem- 
ingly fruitless, rendered to the right, shall be an imperishable 
good both to yourselves and others. 

On rolled the months, bringing alternate triumph and disas- 
ter, radiance and gloom, to souls waiting the salvation of the 
Lord. The summer of 1863 had come. There had been lau- 
rels for Murfreesboro’ and crape for Chancellorville. Vicksburg 
and Port Hudson yet trembled in the balance. Pennsylvania 
was threatened with a Rebel invasion. The Emancipation 
Proclamation, gradual as the great processes of nature, was 
working its way, though not in the earthquake nor in the fire. 
Black regiments had been enlisted, and were beginning to an- 
swer the question, Will the negro fight ? 

On the sixth of June, 1863, a cavalry force of Rebels made 
their appearance some four miles from Milliken’s Bend on the 
Mississippi, and attacked and drove a greatly inferior Union 
force, composed mainly of the Tenth Illinois cavalry 

Suddenly there rose up in their path, as if from the soil, two 
hundred and fifty black soldiers. They belonged to the Elev- 


21 * 


490 


PECULIAR. 


enth Louisiana African regiment, and were under the command 
of Colonel Lieb. They had never been in a fight before. The 
“ chivalry ” came on, expecting to see their former bondsmen 
crouch and tremble at the first imperious word ; but, to the dis- 
may of the Rebels, they were met with such splendid bravery, 
that they turned and fled, and the Illinois men were saved. 

The next day nine hundred and forty-one troops of African 
descent had a hand-to-hand engagement with a Texan brigade, 
commanded by McCulloch, which numbered eighteen hundred 
and sixty-five. Three hundred and forty-five of the colored 
troops were killed or wounded, though not till they had put 
hors de combat twice that number of Rebels. The gunboat 
Choctaw finally came up to drive off the enemy. 

Conspicuous for intrepid conduct on both these occasions 
was a black man, slightly above the middle height, but broad- 
shouldered, well-formed, and athletic. Across his left cheek 
was a scar as if from a sabre-cut. This man had received the 
name of Peculiar Institution, but he was familiarly called 
Peek. On the second day his words and his example had in- 
spired the men of his company with an almost superhuman 
courage. Bravely they stood their ground, and nowhere else 
on the field did so many of the enemy’s dead attest the valor 
of these undrilled Africans. 

One youth, apparently not seventeen, had fought by Peek’s 
side and under his eye with heroic defiance of danger. At last, 
venturing too far from the ranks, he got engaged with two 
Rebel officers in a hand-to-hand encounter, and was wounded. 
Peek saw his danger, rushed to his aid, parried a blow aimed 
at the lad’s life, and shot one of the infuriate officers ; but as 
he was bearing the youth back into the ranks, he was himself 
wounded in the side, and fell with his burden. 

The boy’s wound was not serious. He and Peek were borne 
within the protection of the guns of the Choctaw. They lay 
in the shade cast by the Levee. The surgeon looked at Peek’s 
wound, and shook his head. Then turning to the boy he ex- 
claimed, “ Why, Sterling, is this you ? ” 

At tlft name of Sterling, Peek had roused himself and 
turned a gaze, at once of awe and curiosity, on the youth; 
then sending the surgeon to another sufferer, had beckoned to 
the boy to draw near. 


TIME DISCOVERS AND COVERS. 


491 


“ Is your name Sterling ? ” 

« Yes, sir.” 

“ Where were you born ? ” 

“ In Montreal.” 

“And your mother’s name was Flora Jacobs, and your 
father’s — Sterling ! /.am your father ! ” 

Profoundly overcome by the disclosure, the boy was speech- 
less for a time with agitation. But Peek pressed him to tell 
of his mother. “And be quick, Sterling; for my time is short.” 

We need not give the boy’s narrative in his own words, 
interrupted as it was by the inquiries put by Peek, while his 
life-blood was ebbing. The story which Clara Berwick had 
heard at school, and communicated to Mrs. Gentry, was the 
story of Flora Jacobs. Those who hate to think ill of slavery 
sneer at such reports as the exaggerations of romance ; but the 
great heart of humanity will need no testimony to show that, in 
the nature of things, they must be too often true. 

Flora and Sterling, mother and son, were held as slaves by 
one Floyd in Alabama. Flora had religiously kept her oath 
of fidelity to Peek, much to the chagrin and indignation of her 
master, who saw that he was losing at least fifty per cent on 
his investment, through her stubborn resistance to his demands 
that she should increase and multiply after the fashion of his 
Aldemeys and Durhams. At last it happened that Sterling, 
who had been inspired by his mother with the desire to seek 
his father, ran away, was retaken, and tied up for a whipping. 
Ten lashes had been given, and had drawn blood. And there 
were to be one hundred and ninety more ! The mother, in an 
agony, interceded. There was only one way by which she 
could save him. She must marry coachman George. She 
consented. But a month afterwards Floyd learnt that Flora 
had made the marriage practically null, and had not suffered 
coachman George to touch even the hem of her robe. Floyd 
was enraged. He wrought upon the evil passions of George. 
There were first threats, and then an attempt at violence. 
The attempt was baffled by Flora’s inflicting upon herself a 
mortal stab. As she fell on the floor she marked upon it with 
her own blood a cross, and kissed it with her last brea^. 

“ ’T is all right, — all just as it should be,” murmured Peek. 


492 


PECULIAR. 


“ God knew best. Bless him always for this meeting, Sterling. 
Hold the napkin closer to the wound. There ! I knew she 
would be true ! So ! Take the belt from under my vest. 
Easy ! It contains a hundred dollars. ’T is yours. Take 
the watch from the pocket. So ! A handsome gold one, you 
see. ’T was given me by Mr. Vance.. The name ’s engraved 
on it. Can you write ? Good. Your mother taught you. 
Write by the next mail to William C. Vance, Washington, 
D. C. Tell him what has happened. Tell him how your 
mother died. He ’ll be your friend. You fought bravely, my 
son. What sweetness God puts into this moment ! Take no 
trouble about the body I leave behind. Any trench will do for 
it. Fight on for freedom and the right. Slavery must die. 
All wrong must die. You can’t wrong even a worm without 
wronging yourself more than it. Remember that. Holy liv- 
ing makes holy believing. Charity first. Think to shut out 
others from heaven, and the danger is great you ’ll shut your- 
self out. Don’t strike for revenge. Slay because ’t is God’s 
cause on earth you defend ; and don’t fight unless you see and 
believe that much, let who may command. Love life. ’T is 
God’s gift and opportunity. The more you suffer, the more, 
my dear boy, you can show you prize life, not for the world’s 
goods, but for that love of God, which is heaven, — Christ’s 
heaven. Think. Not to think is to be a brute. Learn 
something every day. Love all that ’s good and fair. Love 
music. Love flowers. Don’t be so childish as to suppose 
that because you don’t hear or see spirits, they don’t hear 
and see you. Remember that your mother and I can watch 
you, — can know your every thought. You ’ll grieve us if 
you do wrong. You ’ll make us very happy if you do right. 
Ah ! The napkin has slipped. No matter. There ! Let 
the blood ooze. See ! Sterling ! Look ! There ! Do you 
not see ? They come. The angels ! Your mother — my 
mother — and beyond there, high up there — one — Ah, God ! 
Tell Mr. Vance — tell him — his — his — ” 

Peek stood up erect, lifted his clasped hands above his head, 
looked beyond them as if watching some beatific vision, then 
dropped his mortal body dead upon the earth. 


EYES TO THE BLIND, 


493 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

EYES TO THE BLIND. 


“ Farewell ! The passion of long years I pour 
Into that word ! ” — Mrs. Hemans. 

“ Heureux l’homme qu’un doux hymen unira avec elle ! il n’aura k craindre que de la 
perdre et de lui survivxe.” — Fenelon. 

I T was that Fourth of July, 1863, when every sincere friend 
of the Great Republic felt his heart beat high with min- 
gled hope and apprehension. Tremendous issues, which must 
affect the people of the American continent through all coming 
time, were in the balance of Fate, and the capricious chances 
of war might turn the scale on either side. Gettysburg, Vicks- 
burg, Port Hudson, Helena ! The great struggles that were 
to make these places memorable had reached their culminating 
and critical point, but were as yet undecided. 

Lee’s Rebel army of invasion, highly disciplined, and num- 
bering nearly a hundred thousand men, was marching into 
Pennsylvania. General Lee assured his friends he should 
remain North just as long as he wished ; that there was no 
earthly power strong enough to drive him back across the 
Potomac. He expected “to march on Baltimore and occupy 
it ; then to march on Washington and dictate terms of peace.” 

Such was Lee’s plan. Its success depended on his defeat- 
ing the Union army; and of that he felt certain. 

The loyal North was unusually reticent and grave ; “ troub- 
led on every side, yet not distressed ; perplexed, but not in 
despair.” A change of commanders in the army of the Poto- 
mac, when just on the eve of the decisive contest, added to the 
general seriousness. 

Glara, since her parting from Vance, had addressed herself 
thoughtfully to the business of life. Duties actively discharged 
had brought with them their reward in a diffusive cheerfulness. 

On the morning of that eventful Fourth of July, the ringing 
of bells and the firing of cannon roused her from slumber 


494 


PECULIAR. 


somewhat earlier than usual. On the piazza she met Netty 
Pompilard, and Mary and Julia Ireton, and Master and Miss 
Purling, and they all strolled to the river’s side, — then home 
to breakfast, — then out to the mown field by the orchard, 
where a mammoth tent had been erected, and servants were 
spreading tables for the day’s entertainment, to be given by 
Clara to all the poor and rich of the neighborhood. Colonel 
Hyde, having been commissioned to superintend the arrange- 
ments, was here in his glory, and not a little of his importance 
was reflected on the busy cripple, his nephew. 

Clara’s thoughts, however, were at Gettysburg, where bravo 
men were giving up their lives and exposing themselves to ter- 
rible, life-wasting wounds, in order that we at home might live 
in peace and have a country, free and undishonored. She 
thought of Vance. She knew he had resigned his colonelcy, 
and was now employed in the important and hazardous, though 
untrumpeted labors of a scout or spy, for which he felt that his 
old practice as an actor had given him some aptitude. We 
subjoin a few fragmentary extracts from the last letter she had 
received from him : — 

44 Poor Peek, — rather let me say fortunate Peek ! He fell 
nobly, as he always desired to fall, in the cause of freedom and 
humanity. His son, Sterling, is now with me ; a bright, brave 
little fellow, who is already a great comfort and help.” 

44 Until the North are as much in earnest for the right as the 
South are for the wrong, we must not expect to see an end to 
this war. It is not enough to say, 4 Our cause is just. Provi- 
dence will put it through.’ If we don’t think the right and the 
just worth making great sacrifices for, — worth risking life and 
fortune for, — we repel that aid from Heaven which we lazily 
claim as our due. God gives Satan power to try the nations 
as he once tried Job. 4 Skin for skin,’ says Satan ; 4 yea, all 
that a man hath will he give for his life.’ Unless we have 
pluck enough to disprove the Satanic imputation, and to show 
we prize God’s kingdom on earth more than we do life or limb 
or worldly store, then it is not a good cause that will save us, 
but a sordid spirit that will ruin us. 0 for a return of that 
inspiration which filled us when the first bombardment of 
Sumter smote on our ears ! ” 

44 The President will soon call for three hundred thousand 
more volunteers. O women of the North ! — ye whose heart- 


EYES TO THE BLIND. 


495 


wisdom foreruns the slow processes of our masculine reason, — 
lend yourselves forthwith to the great work of raising this force 
and sending it to fill up our depleted armies.” 

“ This Upas-tree of slavery is now girdled, they tell us. 
‘ Why not leave it to the winds of heaven to blow down ? ’ 
But if this whirlwind of civil war can’t do it, don’t trust to the 
zephyrs of peace. No ! The President’s proclamation must 
be carried into effect on every plantation, in every dungeon, 
where a slave exists. Better that this generation should go 
down with harness on to its grave, and that war should be the 
normal state of the next generation, than that we should fail in 
our pledged faith to the poor victims of oppression whose mas- 
ters have brought the sword.” 

The grand entertainment under the tent lasted late into the 
afternoon. An excellent band of music was present, and as 
the tunes were selected by Clara, they were all good. Pompi- 
lard was, of course, a prominent figure at the table. He was 
toast-master, speech-maker, and general entertainer. He said 
pleasant things to the women and found amusements for the 
children. He complimented “the gallant Colonel Hyde” on 
his “ very admirable arrangements ” for their comfort ; and the 
Colonel replied in a speech, in which he declared that much of 
the honor belonged to his sister Dorothy, and his nephew, An- 
drew Jackson. 

In a high-flown tribute to the Emerald Isle, “ the land of the 
Emmetts and of that brave hater of slavery, O’Connell,” 
Pompilard called up Maloney, who, in a fiery little harangue, 
showed that he did not lack that gift of extemporaneous elo- 
quence which the Currans and the Grattans used so lavishly to 
exhibit. The band played “ Rory O’More.” 

A compliment to “ the historian of the war ” called up 
Purling, who, in the lack of one arm, made the other do double 
duty in gesticulating. He was cheered to his heart’s content. 
The band played “ Hail Columbia.” 

A compliment to the absent Captain Delaney Hyde Rusk 
drew from his uncle this sentiment : “ The poor whites of the 
South ! may the Lord open their eyes and send them plenty of 
soap ! ” The band played “ Dixie.” 

A venerable clergyman present, the Rev. Mr. Beitler, now 
rose and gave “ The memory of our fallen brave ! ” This was 


496 


PECULIAR. 


drunk standing in solemn silence, with heads uncovered. But 
Mrs. Ireton and Clara vainly put their handkerchiefs to their 
faces to keep back their sobs. By a secret sympathy they 
sought each other, and sat down under a tree where they could 
be somewhat retired from the rest. Esha drew near, but had 
too much tact to disturb them. 

It was four o’clock when a courier was seen running toward 
the assembled company. He came with an “ Extra,” contain- 
ing that telegraphic despatch from the President of the United 
States, flashed over the wires that day, giving comforting assur- 
ances from Gettysburg. Pompilard stood on a chair and pro- 
posed a, succession of cheers, which were vociferously delivered. 
Clara and Mrs. Ireton dried their tears and partook of the 
general joy. Then rapping on the table, Pompilard obtained 
profound silence ; and the old clergyman, kneeling, addressed 
the Throne of Grace in words of thankfulness that found a 
response in every heart. The day’s amusements ended in a 
stroll of the company through the beautiful grounds. 

After the glory the grief. No sooner was it known that Lee, 
whipped and crestfallen, was retreating, than there was a call 
tor succor to the wounded and the dying. Clara, under the 
escort of Major Purling (who was eager to glean materials 
for the great history) went immediately to Gettysburg. She 
visited the churches (converted into hospitals), where wounded 
men, close as they could lie, were heroically enduring the 
sharpest sufferings. She labored to increase their accommoda- 
tions. If families would n’t give up their houses for love, then 
they must for money. Yes, money can do it. She drew on her 
trustees till they were frightened at the repetition of big figures 
in her drafts. She soothed the dying ; she made provision for 
the wounded ; she ordered the wholesomest viands for those 
who could eat. 

On the third day she met Mrs. Charlton and her daughter, 
and they affectionately renewed their acquaintance. As they 
walked together through a hospital they had not till then en- 
tered, Clara suddenly started back with emotion and turned 
deadly pale. But for Major Purling’s support she would have 
fallen. Tears came to her relief, and she rallied. 

What was the matter ? 


EYES TO THE BLIND. 


497 


On one of the iron beds lay a captain of artillery. He did 
not appear to be wounded. He lay, as if suffering more from 
exhaustion than from physical pain. And yet, on looking closer, 
you saw from the glassy unconsciousness of his eyes that the 
poor man was blind. But O that expression of sweet resigna- 
tion and patient submission ! It was better than a prayer to 
look on it. It touched deeper than any exhortation from 
holiest lips. It spoke of an inward reign of divinest repose ; 
of a land more beautiful than any the external vision ever 
looked on ; of that peace of God which passeth all understand- 
ing. 

Clara recognized in it the face of Charles Kenrick. A can- 
non-ball had passed before his eyes, and the shock from the 
concussion of air had paralyzed the optic nerves. The sur- 
geons gave him little hope of ever recovering his sight. 

For some private reason, best known to herself, Clara did 
not make herself known to Kenrick. She did not even inform 
any one that she knew him. She induced Lucy Charlton to 
minister to his wants. On Lucy’s asking him what she could 
do (for she did not know he was Onslow’s friend), he said, 
“ If you can pen a letter for me, I shall be much obliged.” 

“ Certainly,” said she ; “ and my friend here shall hold the 
ink while I write.” 

She received from the hands of her maid in attendance a 
portfolio with which she had come provided, anticipating such 
requests. She then took a seat by his side, while Clara sat at 
the foot of the Got, where she could look in his blind, uncon- 
scious face, and wipe away her tears unseen. 

“ I ’m ready,” said Lucy. And he dictated as follows : — 

“ My dear Cousin : I received last night your letter from 
Meade’s headquarters. ’T was a comfort to be assured you 
escaped unharmed amid your many exposures. 

“ You tell me I am put down in the reports as among the 
slightly wounded, and you desire to know all the particulars. 
Alas ! I may say with the tragic poet, ‘ My wound is great 
because it is so small.’ Don’t add, as Johnson once did, 4 Then 
’t would be greater, were it none at all.’ A cannon-ball, my 
dear fellow, passed before my eyes, and the sight thereof is 
extinguished utterly. The handwriting of this letter, you will 
perceive, is not my own. 


498 


PECULIAR. 


“ What you say of Onslow delights me. So he has behaved 
nobly before Vicksburg, and is to be made a Colonel ! The 
one hope of his heart is to be with the army of liberation that 
shall go down into Texas. Onslow will not rest till he has 
redeemed that bloody soil to freedom, and put an end to the 
rule of the miscreant hangmen of the State. . 

“ I said the one hope of his heart. But what you insinuate 
leads me to suspect there may be still another, — a tender 
hope. Can it be ? Poor fellow ! He deserves it. 

“ You bid me take courage and call on Perdita. You tell 
me she is free as air, — that the bloom is on the plum as yet 
untouched, unbreathed upon. My own dear cousin, if I was 
hopeless before I lost my eyesight, what must I be now ? But, 
since a thing of beauty is a joy forever, was I not lucky in 
making her acquaintance before that cannon-ball swept away 
my optic sense ? Now, as I rest here on my couch, I can call 
up her charming image, — nay, I can hear the very tones of 
her singing. She is worthy of the brilliant inheritance you 
were instrumental in restoring to her. I shall always be the 
happier for having known her, even though the knowing should 
continue to be my disquietude. 

“ I have just heard from my father. He and his young wife 
are in Richmond. His pecuniary fortunes are at a very low 
ebb. His slaves were all liberated last month by Banks, who 
has anticipated the work I expected to do myself. My father 
begins to be disenchanted in regard to the Rebellion. He even 
admits that Davis is n’t quite so remarkable a man as he had 
supposed. How gladly I would help my father if I could ! 
May the opportunity be some day mine. All I have (’t is only 
five thousand dollars) shall be his. 

“ Wliat can I do, my dear cousin, if I can’t get back my eye- 
sight ? God knows and cares ; and I am content in that belief. 
‘ There is a special providence in the falling of a sparrow.’ 
Am not I better than many sparrows ? ‘ Hence have I genial 

seasons ! ’ ’T is all as it should be ; and though He slay me, 
yet will I trust in him. 

“ Farewell, 

“ Charles Kenrick. 

“ To William C. Vance.” 

Several times during the dictating of this letter, Lucy (es- 
pecially when Onslow’s name was mentioned) would have be- 
trayed both herself and Clara, had not the latter in dumb show 
dissuaded her. The next day Clara made herself known, and 


EYES TO THE BLIND. 


499 


introduced Major Purling ; but she did not allow the blind man 
to suspect that she was that friend of his unknown amanuensis, 
who had “ held the ink.” 

Her own persuasions, added to those of the Major, forced 
Kenrick at l^ist to consent to be removed to Onarock. Here, 
in the society of cheerful Old Age and congenial Youth, he 
rapidly recovered strength. But to his visual orbs there re- 
turned no light. There it was still “dark, dark, dark, amid 
the blaze of noon.” 

He did not murmur at the dispensation. In all Clara’s 
studies, readings, and exercises he was made the partaker. 
Even the beautiful landscapes on all sides were brought vividly 
before his inner eyes by her graphic words. Along the river’s 
bank, and through the forest aisles, and along the garden borders 
she would lead him, and not a flower was beautiful that he was 
not made to know it. 


It was the 18th of October, 1863, — that lovely Sabbath 
which seemed to have come down out of heaven, — so beauti- 
ful it was, — so calm, so bright, — so soft and yet so exhilarat- 
ing. The forest-trees had begun to put on their autumnal 
drapery of many colors. The maple was already of a fiery 
scaidet ; the beech-leaves, the birch, and the witch-hazel, of a 
pale yellow ; and there were all gradations of purple and 
orange among the hickories, the elms, and the ashes. The var- 
nished leaves of the oak for the most part retained their green- 
ness, forming mirrors for the light to reflect from, and flashing 
and glistening, as if for very joy, under the bland, indolent 
breeze. It was such weather as this that drew from Emer- 
son that note, we can all respond to, in our higher moments of 
intenser life, “ Give me health and a day, and I will make the 
pomp of emperors ridiculous.” 

With Kenrick, even to his blindness there came a sense of 
the beauty and the glow. He could enjoy the balmy air, the 
blest power of sunshine, the odors from the falling leaves and 
the grateful earth. And what need of external vision, since 
Clara could so well supply its want ? He walked forth with 
her, and they stopped near a rustic bench overlooking the. 
Hudson, and sat down. 


500 


PECULIAR 


“ Indeed I must leave you to-morrow,” said he, in continua- 
tion of some previous remark: “I’ve got an excellent situa- 
tion as sub-teacher of French at West Point.” 

“ 0, you ’ve got a situation, have you ? ” returned Clara. 

The tears sprang to her eyes; but, alas for human frailty! 
this time they were tears of vexation. 

There was silence for almost a minute. Then Kenrick said, 
“ Do you know I ’ve been with you more than three months ? ” 

“Well,” replied Clara, pettishly, “is there anything so very 
surprising or disagreeable in that ? ” 

“ But I fear Onarock will prove my Capua, — that it will 
unfit me for the sterner warfare of life.” 

“ O, go to your sterner warfare, since you desire it ! ” 

And -with a desperate effort at nonchalance she swung her 
hat by its ribbon, and sang that little air from “ La Bayadere” 
by Auber, — “ Je suis content, — je suis heureux.” 

“ Clara, dear friend, you seem displeased with me. What 
have I done?” 

“ You want to humiliate me ! ” exclaimed Clara, reproach- 
fully, and bursting into a passion of tears. 

“ Want to humiliate you ? I can’t see how.” 

“I suppose not,” returned Clara, ironically. “There are 
none so blind as those who don’t choose to see.” 

“ What do you mean, dear friend ? ” 

“ Dear friend indeed ! ” sobbed Clara. “ Is he as blind as 
he would have me think ? Have n’t I given hints enough, inti- 
mations enough, opportunities enough? Would the man force 
me to offer myself outright ? ” 

There was another interval of silence, and this time it lasted 
full ten minutes. And then Kenrick, his breath coming quick, 
his breast heaving, unable longer to keep back his tears, drew 
forth his handkerchief, and covering his face, wept heartily. 

He rose and put out his hand. Clara seized it. He folded 
her in his arms ; and their first kiss, — a kiss of betrothal, — 
was exchanged. 












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